Revelry
by Jessibelle811
Summary: Sofia and Lucinda sneak into the famed Beltane Revelry, a rumored unbridled celebration of debauchery. In disguise, she runs into someone she knows, but who doesn't recognize her. How will she make use of this new anonymity? Cedfia, rated M, OOC.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Okay, so I usually _TRY_ to make my stories in-character, or at least line up events to make the story believable. Not so much on this one. Be prepared for some OOC action.

You can blame/thank Kyonomiko for this fic that I had absolutely no intention of writing before she posted her latest Dramione and pointed me in the direction of some other fabulous HP authors.

This story is predominantly M/F (Cedfia), but there are some quick mentions and allusions to M/M, F/F and a few combinations of all of the above. Also, be prepared for some bondage, and some pretty unrealistic, fantasy level sex. :P Also, religion-wise, I played fast and loose with the traditions surrounding Beltane.

As always, I own nothing, and Sofia is always proper, grown adult age.

* * *

Revelry: Chapter One

* * *

 _"Moving together or elegantly reclined, they watched Sarah, or watched each other watching, and beneath the masks the mouths smiled at each other like knives."_

-from Labyrinth: The Novelization by A.C.H. Smith

* * *

"Password."

The witch smiled, a confident smirk stretching her red lacquered lips. Behind her shoulder her blond friend tried not to fidget under the weight of the doorman's direct and vaguely suspicious glare. "Hecate's hearth warms all."

The peep hole slid closed. For a tense moment there was nothing but silence, then the heavy slide of a bolt being drawn open before the door swung inward. The large, well muscled behemoth of a doorman waved them inside with an elegant bow, the graceful gesture at odds with his bulky frame. His oiled chest and thighs glistened in the shifting torch light, covered as little as he was in only a ragged loin cloth and mask of pheasant feathers.

The witch tossed him a saucy wink as she passed. Her companion simply tried not to stare as she shuffled into the foyer of the famed Burgundy Rose, the wealthiest inn in five kingdoms. "See," Lucinda whispered out of the side of her mouth, "I told you there'd be no trouble."

Sofia's fingers went up to her ear out of habit, intent to sweep her hair back before she remembered that her naturally wavy auburn locks were currently enchanted as part of her disguise. She surveyed their surroundings from behind a mask of black satin as they waded deeper into the room. Worried that her simple glamour spells wouldn't be enough to hide her true identity, she peered into a mirror hanging over the ornate fireplace across the foyer. A virtual stranger stared back. Platinum blond hair framed her face, tightened to corkscrew curls that just brushed her shoulders. The color set off her own blue eyes, complimenting the ebony pearls studding her mask and the glossy raven feathers sweeping back across her temples. Thick shimmering makeup covered her lids, heavy lines of rich kohl rimming her eyes. Rouge brightened her cheeks and lips, the entire effect enchanted to hold its place all night. She smoothed nervous hands down her bright blue bodice and scandalously short skirt.

"Stop tugging at your costume, you look amazing."

"I don't know, Luce," she whispered, her voice rolling out in a surprising purr that she still couldn't get used to. The vowels rolled off her tongue, the consonants sharp on a posh Freezenburg accent. In truth, only her hair and voice had been changed, the rest of her disguise resting on the sheer incredulity that she would ever appear in public dressed in such a way, and at a venue like this. "What if someone recognizes me?"

"What did I tell you? Hiding in plain sight is the best disguise. No one is expecting the princess of Enchancia to show up to a debouched pagan revelry, so no one will suspect it's you. Besides, a little deception is expected on a night like tonight. Everyone here wants their secrets kept, they'll be too busy hiding theirs to try to uncover yours."

A flutter of nerves still jangled her stomach as she looked about. The hotel had been transformed for the occasion, apparently. Sofia had never been there before, but she suspected it wasn't always so dimly lit, or had so many curtained off doorways. Red velvet drapes framed every portal from ceiling to floor, sectioning off the rest of the rooms beyond the entry way. At the front desk an impossibly beautiful young man with effeminate features and bare chest greeted guests, though no one seemed to be checking it. Around his neck hung a strange bit of jewelry that Sofia suspected was supposed to resemble a collar. It looked startlingly functional from the metal ring attached to the front. The weight of where she was descended upon her suddenly, prickling along her skin in a close approximation of panic.

Two days ago when Lucinda announced that she'd uncovered this year's secret location for the famed Beltane Revelry, Sofia had been justifiably intrigued. Tales had whispered among her peers for years about the supposed debauchery that took place at the ultra selective and secretive celebration of fertility. When the witch begged Sofia to accompany her, her capitulation rested only partially in obligation to a friend. She had to admit, she was curious.

Her parents thought she was spending the holiday as she had last year, in the company of Lucinda's coven. Marla, Lucinda's mom, thought they were at the castle, opting out of this year's celebration. The deception was unfortunately necessary. Sofia hated lying to her parents, but her feeling about helping a friend in need had superseded her conscience in this instance.

Previously, she'd always celebrated Beltane in the most innocence ways. In years past, she enjoyed the festivities of the village, eating fairy cakes drizzled with honey or dancing around the May pole. As she came of age, other aspects of the meaning of Beltane began to penetrate her childish perception if the spring holiday. At nineteen, she was well aware of its true purpose . Not just an excuse to dance in the town square or as a marker for farmers to drive their herds out to pasture, now she understood the earthy, sexual elements that made Beltane a fertility rite.

Choosing to attend the witches' coven last year had been understandably opposed by her parents at first. As a princess, Sofia's virtue was somewhat more closely guarded than the average village girl. Though, with her recent refusal to marry, declaring a desire to be like her favorite aunt, her romantic future lay in somewhat murky territory. Aunt Tilly hadn't remained chaste until marriage, a question she'd answered with her customary candor when Sofia worked up the courage to ask..

Still, her mother had wrung her hands at the idea of letting Sofia attend the Beltane bonfires, and the king had done all but outright refuse. Only Marla's assurance that both young woman would be under her watchful care, surrounded by a coven of women who held a woman's virtue and, most especially, her consent sacred, had the royal couple finally relented, but not without a strict curfew. As promised, Sofia had returned home untouched, having spent the evening engaged in nothing more salacious than drinking a cup of mulled wine and flirting mildly with the blushing teenage son of one of the elder witches. Honestly, other than an understandable curiosity, she had no real desire to disappear into the woods with a random stranger to lose her maidenhead. Neither did Lucinda, but for different reasons.

This year her parents allowed greater freedom, allowing her to sleep over at her witch friend's house, trusting Sofia's judgment. In truth, as a grown woman, free and unattached, they had little power over her decisions when it came to her body. She appreciated their parental concern, but believed it misplaced; she had no intention of giving herself to anyone this night, or any other anytime soon. She didn't want to wait for marriage, but she did want her first time to be with someone she cared for, not a hasty fumble in the woods, or a shady alcove. She was here because Lucinda asked, _begged_ , Sofia to accompany her.

"It's a bit tamer than I expected," Lucinda muttered, looking all about while trying not to appear overly gauche about it. She checked her own reflection, adjusting the mask of red silk and black feathers. Her green eyes sparkled and her hair, drawn up in elaborate coils, looked very fetching. Unlike the princess, she had no need of a disguise beyond the obligatory masquerade mask and elaborate dress. A witch at Beltane wasn't something of note. "I don't see anyone we know, but that doesn't mean much. Almost everyone wears some kind of disguise to this I've been told."

"I thought Ravena was supposed to meet you. How will you recognize her?"

Now it was the witch's turn to fiddle with her dress. "She said she wouldn't change her appearance magically, just wear a costume like everyone else. Oh, Sof— I mean _Daphne_ , am I stupid for coming here?"

Sofia grasp onto her pseudonym like a lifeline. Tonight she wasn't Sofia, nervous princess reeking with inexperience, she was Daphne, a yet undecided character. "If you are, then I certainly am."

"Thanks again, by the way," the girl's green eyes softened with earnestness. "I never would have worked up the courage to speak to her if it weren't for you."

Sofia smiled, knowing how difficult this had been for her friend, discovering her budding, and in their small village, unorthodox sexuality. One of the reasons Lucinda was avoiding Beltane with the other witches was because they considered it a sacred holiday, symbolizing the joining of the Goddess and God, of woman and man. Marla clung to her pagan identity, a bit too traditional in some aspects. Love was love as far as most were concerned, but the older witch couldn't seem to grasp why her daughter had no wish to be joined to a man on the first night of May. "Have you talked to your mom yet?"

"I will. Soon. I promise. I just, couldn't yet. Not today. She takes Beltane so seriously. So _literally_."

Sofia frowned with consideration. Marla would come around, she hoped. And once her mother approved, no matter how tastily, Lucinda could feel freer to be herself with others too. As of yet, the princess was the only one privy to her secret.

"Beautiful place," Sofia said, trying for some semblance of natural conversation amidst the fantastical glitter of the party. Magic trailed off almost every guest, heady and intoxicating, weighting the air like cloying perfume. A pretty brunette strolled past, her hair pulled into a high sleek pony tail. Enchanted gossamer wings fluttered from her bare shoulders. Her dress dipped scandalously low between her breasts, and equally shockingly high at the hem. Sofia wasn't sure where to look, each guest drawing her attention, making her want to stare with slack-jawed curiosity. This certainly wasn't the type of tight laced, high necked soiree she was used to.

"Lucinda?" A breathy, nervous voice made Sofia turn. A young woman with caramel colored skin, decked in deep purple satin stood behind them. Her chestnut hair was drawn up, a mask edged in black lace framing her deep chocolate eyes. She smiled at the witch, but her smile dimmed when her gaze slid over Sofia, looking her up and down, frowning. "Um, hello?"

"Ravena," Lucinda waved before motioning towards Sofia with the same hand, "This is my ..."

"Cousin," Sofia stepped in, hoping that creating a family tie between them would ease the other woman's initial distrust. "Daphne. I'm visiting from Freezenburg."

"Oh," the girl relaxed, an easy smile returning to her lips, "It's nice to meet you. So, how's the party so far?"

"It's a lot tamer than I expected," Lucinda answered, shrugging, "Other than a few skimpy outfits, I don't see the big deal."

The dark haired girl grinned, showing off a row a straight, white teeth. "It's early yet. Just wait."

"Have you been here before?" Sofia wondered, looking around again. Peopled milled as scantily clad servants circulated through, some carrying trays of food, others glasses of wine.

"Last year," she answered casually, snagging them three glasses from a passing waiter. "My family has an open invitation, being members of the magic haute ton. My parents haven't attended for years, thank the Goddess." Her pretty face pulled into grimace. "I don't even want to think about having to worry about running into them here. Ick."

Lucinda chuckled. "It doesn't seem that bad. Maybe a little awkward."

"Like I said," Ravena winked raising her glass in a mock toast, "Just wait. Since we're here, how about we look around? I've never been to this inn before."

"I thought you said you came last year?" Sofia asked as they began to move through the party.

"I said I came to the Revelry last year. It's never held in the same location twice. I'm not even sure who hosts it. Some say the Sorcery Triumvirate, some the Wizacoetus. My mum always assumed the Solestrine family footed the bill. All I know is it's by invitation only. Very selective."

"Thanks again for the invite," Lucinda ducked her head. "I'm not sure I could have handled another Beltane fending off questions about why I don't find a 'nice boy already'."

For the first time Ravena's aplomb slipped, a faint blush darkening her cheeks. "I'm just glad you came over to talk to me at the charmacy last week."

Sofia sipped the pale golden drink, mead instead of grape wine, as the two women started talking. She hug back, giving them as much privacy as she could afford, knowing her function lay predominantly as moral support. Lucinda had been afraid she'd be stood up, that Ravena wouldn't come. The witch had wrestled with her feelings, harboring a hopeless crush on Ravena, another witch from a larger coven based in the city. If she hadn't shown, Lucinda would have been crushed. Seeing as how that didn't happen, Sofia began to feel decidedly superfluous. The two seemed to be getting on well, especially given the relaxed atmosphere. Glancing around she watched as the guests move about with a sort of indolent brilliance, as if they had all night to dawdle. They eyed each other with undisguised hunger. Whenever a pair of those ravenous eyes raked over her, she looked hastily away.

There was a charge to the atmosphere, above and beyond the static hum of magic used to disguise each guest. There was something laced through the air, growing thicker the deeper they treaded past each curtained doorway. At first, she bristled wondering if some enchantment had been cast over the party, but she soon dismissed the idea, realizing the heady feeling was nothing more than good-old-fashion pheromones mixed with anticipation. Too many bodies in close proximity, and with the expectations that came naturally associated with Beltane. To put it simply, sex was in the air.

Sofia watched with a sort of detached fascination as a curvy woman with flowered headdress picked an hors d'oeuvre off a passing tray and held it out to the parted lips of another woman. She nibbled it down in long, sensuous licks, swallowing the treat before licking her lips and sucking the first woman's finger tips into her mouth. Sofia flushed, training her eyes on the more innocuous scenery of the walls.

A lovely pastoral painting hung on the parlor wall and she gave it her full attention, trying to appear inconspicuous. The artist had captured what she assumed was a hunt, as men in blazers rode on horseback across an open field. Their party was angled towards a distant wood and she had to squint to make out the tiny painted shapes among the trees. Shock rippled through her to realize the men were not after a fox or a boar, but a troop of women, flitting pale and naked among the trees, some bathing in the nearby stream, their painted nipples tiny brush strokes of coral.

As they moved from room to room, Sofia saw several more shocking tableaux. One painting depicted a Green Man crowned with the antlers of a stag. He bent his face over the throat of a pale woman wreathed with flowers. His hand cupped her naked breast and Sofia could see his phallus, thick and erect between them. It was shocking to her eyes, but not so much as the next painting that showed a similar couple, but this time the woman was on her knees. The Green Man poised behind her with his shaft in hand. A bonfire blazed behind him, showing a ring of onlookers, avidly awaiting their coupling.

A nervous heat flitted through her belly, making her want to examine the scene even as her conscience told her to turn away. Of course, she'd known Beltane was a fertility holiday, but she'd never been exposed to such blatant sensuality. On May Day's past couples went "a-Maying", as it was called, in the fields and woods, away from the village and in relative privacy. She'd heard tales that married couples even renounced their vows for the night, accepting lovers outside their marriage bed. The suggestion of such public and flagrant sexuality left her flushed with confusion. Sex wasn't such a forbidden topic among the Ton of the royal court, but it was always carefully couched in innuendo. Covered in flirtatious, flowery language that softened the idea to something romantic and furtive. It was a far cry from the earthy sensuality decorating these walls, or permeating the village festival; and it certainly bore little resemblance to the seductive, avaricious current flowing around her now.

Lost in thought, she looked up, realizing Lucinda and Ravena had moved on, nearly leaving her behind. She hurried after them, scurrying to keep up like a child afraid to be left out alone after dark. She did feel a bit like the jaws of some unseen beast were panting at her heels, ready to snap her up if she let her attention waver. Her throat felt dry, but she sipped the honeyed wine carefully, feeling she'd need her head about her in a place like this.

Ravena's words, or were they warning, repeated through her mind. It was early yet and Sofia trembled to think how the party would turn as the night wore on.

* * *

Author's Note: So again, this is a very bastardized version of Beltane, but that's kind of the point. The revelry isn't a reverent observance of tradition, but more an excuse to throw an Eyes-Wide-Shut-type orgy. As such, I'm playing very fast and loose with the traditions of Beltane, and folklore/mythology surrounding Spring celebrations.

I wanted to at least have the first chapter out before May 1st, or Beltane. Going to try for regular updates. Every other day if possible.

Reviews, Please! I love to hear your guys' thoughts, anecdotes, and general encouragements. Anything really. I just really, really love reviews. :D


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you to many of you for bringing Day of the Sorcerers to my attention. I don't have cable, so I was unaware that season 4 was premiering with such a Cedric-centric story. Now I just wish I could watch it. Looking forward to finally getting all of season 3 on Netflix, though.

* * *

 _"Her eyes were wide. She was the picture of innocence in that setting, a picture that excited the dancers, who never took their masked eyes off her, while they moved with weary grace to the cadence of a sinisterly beautiful tune."_

\- from Labyrinth: The Novelization by A.C.H. Smith

* * *

Revelry: Chapter Two

* * *

As the night went on, Sofia began to feel decidedly more uncomfortable in her own skin. Music played, drinks flowed, and inhibitions began to loosen. With increasing regularity, she had to turn her eyes away from some licentious display until she felt there was nowhere safe to look. Ravena assured her things were tamed yet, mostly deep kissing and heavy petting, and would only become more crazed as the night progressed. She and Lucinda seemed somewhat more immune than Sofia, the witches having a more open, pragmatic view of such things.

The trio seated themselves in an alcove bench, leaving the curtains open. From that vantage point, Sofia watched a veritable parade of revelry goers pass by. Fairies and satyrs proved a common costume, as was the crowned stag and the spring maiden. A group of rowdy men cavorted past, their entire bodies covered in red paint, causing mischief and mayhem wherever they went. A man with enchanted horns sprouting from his forehead chased a giggling, feathery-winged angel. But not everyone was in costume. Pointing to a maskless woman in a floor length gown and elaborately coifed hair, Ravena leaned across Lucinda to whisper.

"See that woman over there with the stuck up look on her face? That's Mistress Magina, enchantress of Corinthia."

Sofia blinked, recognizing Princess Cleo's kingdom. She looked the woman up and down, recognizing now the haughty, self-assured air about her that bespoke a high position. "Corinthia's royal enchantress? What is she doing here?"

"Oh," Ravena waved the question off lazily, "The royals are always invited to the Revelry. They're so full of themselves, most don't even bother to hide their appearance."

Sofia frowned. Her family had certainly never been invited, not that she knew of. Fear prickled along her skin; she never suspected she might run into anyone she knew here. The sudden idea made her shrink back behind the sweep of the curtain. "Are there members of the royal families here?"

Lucinda's dark-haired date frowned before a kind of understanding lit her features. "Sorry, that's what we call them, the magic handlers that work for the kingdoms. The ones that serve the royal families."

Sofia had raised her glass to her mouth, but choked on her wine mid-sip, coughing. Lucinda slapped her soundly on the back. "You mean," she tried to breathe, her eyes streaming, "That every royal sorcerer or enchantress is here?"

"Most of them. The ones that choose to attend," Ravena answered simply, as if it were common knowledge. Perhaps it was, but it was news to the princess.

Her eyes met her witch friend's, her own going wide with something close to panic.

Lucinda's green gaze softened with concern. "I swear," she whispered quiet enough so their new companion wouldn't hear, "I had no idea."

Sofia's eyes darted around as if expecting the very object of her thoughts might pop out from hiding at any moment. How could she have been so stupid? She didn't know where he spent his Beltane. She hadn't asked because she didn't want to know. The thought of him celebrating the fertility rite, holding some strange woman in his arms, made something in her chest tighten. But she should have at least contemplated the possibility that he could be here, at the most magical Beltane gathering of all.

Across the room, a grinning, shirtless man with oiled biceps bent his head to drink wine out of the cleavage of a buxom woman. Mead dribbled off his chin and she leaned in to lick it away before devouring his lips in a kiss that made Sofia's thighs clench even as she hastened to avert her eyes. Nearly everyone was in disguise here, in costume or enchanted appearance, he could be anywhere— _anyone_. The thought raced through her stomach, turning the wine sour. He could be the man with his tongue current down that woman's throat. Or the one in the corner whispering in some pretty fairy's ear with his hand creeping steadily up the inside of her thigh. Or the one in the doorway with a black leather mask and tight pants that she just realized was staring at her with more interest than she cared for.

She adjusted her mask with nervous fingers, eyes flitting to every man in the room, wondering.

Maybe he wasn't here at all. Maybe he chose not to attend. Maybe he wasn't that guest in the adjoining alcove with one long haired brunette nibbling his lips, while a redhead licked his chest. Gods she _really_ hoped that wasn't him. It wasn't that she couldn't think of him that way- as a sexual being- but that she didn't want to think of him that way with another woman, or women in some cases. Intellectually she knew he must have had lovers, but in her narrow world she'd never been forced to confront the idea. She could blithely go on with her fantasies, imagining that someday, somehow he'd finally take notice of her as something other than a childish nuisance or friendly moral support. He often vacillated between the two, in turns sighing with impatience when she needed something from him or seeking her out to stroke his ego when faced with a particularly difficult task or recent failure.

And she had fantasized, a thousand difference scenarios of friendship turned to love, closeness boiling over to unrestrained lust, meaningless physical release, or heartfelt confessions of deeper feelings. She'd dreamed of it all because, in reality, she'd take anything he might offer. She'd even imagined depraved fantasies that made her quake with desire, only to fade to acute disgust with herself once the pleasure of self-satisfaction faded.

Just last night, with the buzz of spring bursting to life out her windows, she slipped into bed imagining just such a scene. Never officially one of her teachers, she often sought his guidance and advice on the subject of magic. She'd slipped her cool fingers beneath her nightdress, dreaming of helping him in his workshop, innocently pouring the wrong ingredient into some vital potion, ruining the whole batch. In reality he'd do no more than tug his hair and wail, whimpering with dejection, and eventually figure some means of salvaging the situation. But in her fantasy, he came up behind her, incensed in a way she'd never seen him.

 _"What have you done, you naughty girl?" He'd whisper into her ear, his mercurial voice dropping into a baritone that rippled down her spine._

 _"I'm sorry," she'd babbled, afraid and excited, unsure which to feel._

 _"You've just cost me a month's hard work with your carelessness," he'd grumble, his gloved hands clasping her hips with a sudden roughness. "I should think you deserve to be punished for that."_

 _She'd tremble as his hands slipped up over her body, holding her ribs, making her breast ache with the anticipation of his touch there. And she just knew he would touch her there. "If you think it's what I deserve," she'd breathe, nearly panting._

 _"Oh I shall give you what you deserve," he'd growl._

From there her fantasies became less distinct. She really had no concept of what it would actually feel like to be possessed by a man. She could try to imagine him roughly spreading her parted thighs, of his naked body draped over her own, of his manhood pressing into her sex, but she didn't know what any of that actually felt like. At times when she was around him, the real him, she felt like she might burst for the wanting of a single caress, just the whisper of his fingertips so she could know what it felt like to actually touch his skin.

Heat flashed in her chest, making her feel much too warm. The party danced before her eyes as she tried to gain control of her thrumming pulse. She downed the last of her wine to wet her throat. "Luce? Do you think you'll be alright on your own if I leave? I'm not feeling all that well all of a sudden."

"Would you excuse us for just a second?" Lucinda asked Ravena, who nodded. They went a little distance away, standing close to be heard over the murmur of the party. "I'll be fine. But will you be okay?"

Just as Sofia knew Lucinda's secret, the witchling was the only one who knew hers. The only one who knew how deeply the princess pined for the kingdom's sorcerer. "Yeah, I just can't— I just really don't fancy running into him here of all places. For so, so many reasons."

"I understand." The witch drew her into a hug, whispering into her ear. "And thanks again, Sof."

"Happy to help."

She bid her goodbyes to Ravena, fabricating a quick fib about needing to be up early for her return to Freezenburg. She left the two witches sitting close together, their heads bent towards each other as they talked. Sofia hoped Lucinda had found what she was looking for in the other witch.

She turned on her heels, going about the business of retracing their steps to find the foyer and the front door. But every hallway looked the same, every alcove and doorway draped in the same red velvet marking them indistinct. She thought she remembered passing through a parlor, coming towards the back of the building and tried to find the same passage. By the time she realized she was lost, she'd been hopelessly turned around. She couldn't have even found her way back to Lucinda even if she wanted to. She wandered on, unable to go back.

Another ubiquitous curtained doorway brought her into a cozy room filled with leather armchairs and shelves of books. A woman in Grecian gown stretched out on the couch while a golden-skinned man crowned with olive leaves dangled a bunch of purple grapes over her parted lips. She snapped her teeth around one of the plump fruits, giggling as the man palmed her breast through her bodice with his free hand, presumably pinching her nipple. Another couple watched the display from an adjacent chair, the man's hand absently playing between the legs of the woman on his lap.

Sofia's face blazed, heat rushing into her cheeks at the casual displays of such wanton sexuality. Quickly she scanned for an exit, but her hesitation cost her. An arm dropped over her shoulder, startling her to find a stranger standing too close to her side for her liking.

"You are much too pretty to be here all alone," the man purred, an unfamiliar accent rolling from his full lips. Like her he wore a mask, his own eyes rimmed in kohl that looked surprisingly alluring on his angular face. Shirtless, his bottom half was enchanted to resemble the half-goat appearance of a satyr. Ivy leaves wove through his glossy curls, around a pair of dainty horns sprouting from his temples. A strained loin cloth covered his private parts, making Sofia intensely glad not to know what lay underneath.

Despite his forwardness, she was too well-bred to ignore a compliment, even an inelegant one. "Thank you," she muttered, "I think. But I'm not interested in any company. I'm just trying to find the exit."

His sumptuous lips turned down in a pout. He looked as if he expected her to swoon at the gesture. "Oh no, no, you can't be leaving so soon. The revelry has barely begun."

She stole a glance around. The woman on the couch was writhing now, her grapes forgotten as she sucked her lover's thumb between her lips. His head had dropped to her throat, laying sloppy kisses down her chest, nearing her breasts. Her desire to leave elevated, suspecting that clothing was quickly becoming superfluous to these people. "I think things have progressed past 'just beginning'. Really, if you could just point the way to the foyer."

"Stay," he entreated, his sour breath wafting over her face, reeking of alcohol. "It's Beltane, a time to drink and be merry. Wine?"

He offered his own glass. She politely pressed it away while trying to shrug off his arm. "No, thank you, really."

He leaned heavily against her, swaying a little on his hooves. His face pushed much too close to her own, speaking in what he probably thought was a seductive whisper. It came out in a slur. "Or perhaps you'd prefer something _harder_ to put in that pretty mouth of yours."

Her lips curled in marked disgust and she tugged her shoulder sharply from his grasp. "You know, that's alright. I'll find the exit on my own."

She turned, trying to weave her way through the crowd, but a hand clamped onto her arm, spinning her around. He sneered in her face, nostrils flaring as he pinned her against the wall. "Such a feisty little ice princess. I like that." Sofia bristled, momentarily stunned by his actions. No one in her life would dare accost her like this. His eyes glittered with intent as he leaned clumsily against her. "I know just how to warm you up."

His head dipped forward, but Sofia hadn't had enough to drink to dull her reflexes. Quickly she jerked her head aside, making his lips barely glance off her cheek before she angrily shoved him back. Years of derby riding had made her stronger than she looked. "I said no, now get away from me."

People in the room began to take notice of what was happening in the corner, heads turning their way. The leaf-crowned Apollo abandoned his goddess, coming over to clasp a hand down on the satyr's shoulder. "Hey friend, you know the rules," he said jovially, "She has to be willing. Come now, there are plenty of other women."

"Fuck you," the satyr snarled, apparently too drunk to see any sort of sense. He turned, pushing the other man so hard that he stumbled back. Sofia used the moment to slip past them both, sliding along the wall. People began to flow into the small room, sensing the rising tension of a fight about to break out. Several waiters tried to wade their way through to intervene. Sofia came across a velvet draped doorway and ducked inside, wanting nothing more than to escape the cloying library.

When the curtain swung closed, she found herself cloaked in darkness. This room was much larger than the rest, probably a ballroom under ordinary circumstances, but the low flickering candles made its exact size indistinct. The tiny flames dancing in the chandelier and from the sconces ringing the room couldn't seem to penetrate the overarching darkness. It stretched out before her, shrouded in uncertainty. She had no wish to go back the way she'd come, giving her little choice but to carefully wade forward. Dark shapes moved in her periphery, uttering muffled sounds. Husky grunts and breathy moans rippled through the velvety shadows. She searched for a means of escape, some telltale outline of light marking a doorway, but found none.

She nearly bumped into a group of people clustered together. Carefully she tapped one stranger on the shoulder. The woman turned, opening a hole in the circle of the crowd. Sofia's jaw dropped, seeing what everyone was staring at. A naked woman laid on the floor, her legs splayed open. Another woman bent her head between them, whatever she was doing was masked by the fall of her hair, for which Sofia was glad of. A man knelt at the naked woman's side, her lips wrapped around his manhood, her head bobbing enthusiastically. Another guest wandered forward to casually grope her breast. And all around people watched, some with an almost bored disinterest as they sipped their wine, others with avid fascination. Across the divide, Sofia saw at least one man with his penis out, stroking it in his own hand.

She backed away, reeling with shock to see such private things put on public display. Her mind couldn't quite comprehend all that she saw.

The whirled on her heels, unsure where to flee. In her haste, she stumbled right into the body of another guest. He put his hand out to steady her, and she looked up, afraid of what she might find. An older man with silvery hair and a shirt open to the waist smiled kindly down at her. "Whoa, careful there little one."

"Sorry," she mumbled, seeing he was accompanied by an elegant looking woman in a black dress and a younger man with a ponytail. She was just relieved to see they were all wearing clothes. The sounds behind her seemed to be intensifying, moans reaching a crescendo. "I came in here by mistake," she felt miserably on the verge of begging, "I'm just trying to find the exit."

"Poor lamb," the ponytailed man soothed, "Right this way, precious."

"Thank you," she breathed, following him hastily past the throng of watchers, keeping her eyes averted from the shadows around the room. He led her across the floor, sweeping back another curtain. Light spilled from behind, bright, inviting, and safe. "Thank you," she murmured again, slipping hastily out of the ballroom.

The curtain swept closed behind her, leaving her alone, trembling with the uneasy memories of all she'd seen and experienced in the last half an hour or so. Her eyes slid closed and she paused, breathing a deep sigh of relief to be out of there.

Somewhere before her a man chuckled, and the sound shivered down her spine. _What now?_

"You look lost."

Her eyes snapped open. That voice. She knew that voice.

She blinked realizing she was indeed in another part of the inn. The bar by the look of the long table backed by a mirror. The bartender poured drinks, filling trays for the servants that passed quickly in and out, dropping off trays of empty glasses. Otherwise, the place was relatively empty compared to the rest of the hotel. Sofia's eyes found him easily.

She tried not to let the shock show on her face. Tried to remember that right now she wasn't Princess Sofia, but Daphne, witch relation from Freezenburg. It didn't help from making her feel that all her illusions would be stripped away the moment she looked into those familiar hazel eyes. Finally, she turned her attention to the man who had spoken to her, the one seated alone at the bar. Unchanged, except for the color of his clothing— black instead of the usual purple— not even a mask obscuring his features, he was easily recognizable. That same elegant nose, those same thick, almost feminine lashes framing eyes of molten gold, and, of course, his unmistakable bi-colored hair. Sofia trembled, caught in the gaze of her mentor. Her friend. Her fantasy in the flesh.

 _Cedric_.

* * *

Author's Note: The pushy satyr guy, I wish I could say writing that scene felt over the top, but drawing back to my days (many. many years ago) going to a bar or club, I remember having conversations with pushy guys that went almost exactly like that. Blech!

But on a happier note: Cedric! Yay! I'm interested to see how you guys thought he was going to show up. Under what crazy circumstances. :P

Reviews, please!


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Sorry guys, I don't really know what happened. All I can say is writer's block hit out of nowhere, and hit hard. I was on a roll, cranking out content for the next four chapters, then it all came to a screeching halt. Thus, here is an update over a week late.

It bears repeating, I consider this story OOC. I just wanted to throw caution to the wind to write a somewhat morally ambiguous, but ultimately fun, sexy fic. I'm basically playing by the rules of no harm, no foul. Or the ends justify the means.

Couple of non-story related things: I got to watch Day of the Sorcerers. Oh my god, that quick flash of teenage Cedric's long, curly hair had me in giggles. And, I'm beginning to really dislike Wormwood, but he factors into this story, so I'm not going to think on it too much just now. And, Roland! Arg! "Maybe you should have tried doing something great." Oh, he is such an ass! But, then again, all those character flaws and grown-up subjects slipped in is what makes Sofia the First somewhat unique in the Disney Junior line up. The characters aren't so cut and dry as their other shows.

If some of you haven't checked in on the lovely Jess Deaton's art on DeviantArt, she has a new sketch that goes with Day of the Sorcerers with an aged-up Sofia. Heartbreaking and a little suggestive, just the way I like it. :P

* * *

Revelry: Chapter Three

* * *

" _Midway upon the journey of our life, I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward pathway had been lost."_

― From Inferno by Dante Alighieri

* * *

She found her voice after a long moment, belatedly grateful for her enchanted accent. "Yes," she said, hoping her voice didn't waver. "I'm afraid I have lost my way."

His lips quirked up in an amused smirk, though she suspected his amusement was at her expense. "I'd dare say you did if you wandered in there unprepared."

That rankled her unexpectedly. Must he always treat her like a child? An innocent? Her chin lifted stubbornly. "Who says I'm unprepared?"

He merely snickered. "The look on your face did when you stumbled out of there."

She held onto her indignation just a moment longer before giving up the pretense. She must have looked shocked indeed upon exiting the ballroom. "Okay, you're right. I'm rather desperately trying to find the exit. But I've only managed to stumble from one bad situation to another."

"Got an eyeful, did you?" He sipped his drink, making her stare. She never saw Cedric drink. He waved his hand in the direction of the far hall with an airy, familiar gesture. "Head down the hall, take a right, you'll find the entryway."

He turned away, apparently believing their conversation over. Sofia looked uncertainly in the direction he'd indicated. She really should take her leave. He didn't seem to recognize her at all. If he did, surely he'd be demanding to know what she was doing there.

"Thank you," she mumbled, still rooted to the spot. Would she ever learn to leave well enough alone? Apparently not, as she couldn't seem to help herself from taking a step in his direction. "Can I ask you something?"

His eyes lifted, looking at her in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar. "Why do I get the feeling you're going to no matter what I say?"

"I just wondered why you're out here, is all? Drinking alone. The party seems to be that way," she indicated the way she'd come before.

"I don't feel in a particularly ... festive mood at the moment."

His tone, his countenance made her frown. She had seen him not a few hours before, and he seemed fine then. She thought back over their last conversation. He'd been an unmitigated success at the village fair, raising the May Pole with magic, decorating the town square with Hawthorne blossoms and ribbons of red and white. He put a bit more flare into his work than usual, always loving the pagan holidays best rather than the occasions at the castle made up for the gentry. She'd praised his work, fawning a bit as she usually did around him.

 _"And what do you plan to do with the rest of your day, Princess?" He'd asked, eyes trained on the far sights of the festival instead of her._

 _"I'll be with Lucinda and her coven," the half-truth had rolled from her lips, easier than she imagined._

 _He turned then, his expression more than incredulous, a little shocked even. "And the king and queen are alright with that?"_

 _"Why wouldn't they be? I went with the coven last year. Mom and Dad trust me. And besides," she felt the need to repeat the point yet again to him, "I'm a grown woman. I don't need my parents' permission or approval for everything I do."_

 _"No, I suppose not," he'd stuttered vaguely, saying no more than that. The silence lengthened between them. Sofia had wondered if he expected her to reciprocate, to ask on his plans. But she couldn't make the words come because she sincerely did not wish to know. Didn't want to think of him engaged in the ancient rites of the holiday with some strange, but no doubt comely woman. One with a mature figure of heavy breasts and gently flaring hips who would know how to please him. Not a woman-child virgin like herself._

 _When she hadn't deigned to fill the silence, he mumbled some truncated farewell and taken his leave at once, heading back to the castle._

At their parting, he hadn't seemed upset, merely preoccupied. She studied him now, the slump of his shoulders, the slight scent of alcohol betraying that the glass in his hand wasn't his first of the night. Not that she was upset that she hadn't discovered him in the arms of some willing woman, but his attitude concerned her. "Why aren't you," she asked, trying to keep her tone light, instead of tinged with interest, "Feeling very festive, especially on a night like this?"

"Persistent, aren't you? I thought you were leaving."

She refused to raise to the bait, recognizing his attempts to shoo her off. Instead she nodded at the glass in his hand. "What are you drinking there?"

He lifted it, seeming to contemplate the amber liquid inside. "Scotch."

She stepped tentatively closer. "Is it good?"

"It's strong, which at the moment is all I require."

When she stepped closer still, the barman lifted his head in her direction. "Something I can get you, Miss?"

She chewed her lip, knowing she should politely decline and make her exit. Cedric sipped his drink, seeming unconcerned with her. On some strange impulse she slipped into the chair beside him. "I'll have what he's having."

The bartender set a thick bottomed glass before her, pouring two fingers worth a dark amber liquid into the bottom. When she took the first sip, the strong, smoky flavor made her cough, causing Cedric to regard with a slightly amused air.

"This is your first Revelry, I take it?" He asked.

"Not yours, I take it." She shot back, not wishing to offer too much information about herself. The less she said, the less she _lied_ , the less story she had to keep straight. Gods, what was she doing? But he was talking to her without the reserved air of propriety that seemed to lay between them all the time now; invisible, but impenetrable all the same. If he found her out, she reasoned, she could still salvage the situation, tell him the truth— that she'd come to help a friend. There was no harm done. They were just talking.

He smirked, taking another slow swallow of alcohol. "I've been to enough of these to have grown bored, can you believe it?"

"After what I just saw in there? No, actually I can't imagine." She dropped her eyes, uncertain if she should ask, no matter who she was supposed to be for the night. She examined her glass, trying not to appear too interested. "You don't participate in the Beltane celebrations then?"

He didn't answer right away, making her wait. Making her see what an impertinent question she'd asked someone who was supposed to be a stranger. She tried not to fidget on her seat like a school girl in class. The dark glitter in his eyes made things in her belly flutter.

"Now, what gave you that idea?"

"It's just that you're out here, alone. It doesn't look as if you've done anything to hide your identity. You just," she struggled to put his current, strange mood into words, aware of how intently he was looking at her now. She didn't dare meet his eye. Finally she settled on, "don't seem to give a damn."

"Oh, I care about a great many things," he muttered darkly, almost to himself. "Some more than I should, but just not this. And I find people tend to leave me alone when I am simply myself."

She dropped her gaze, uncertain if he wanted his solitude back. Her eyes trailed down his arm, discovering an incongruity to his usual appearance. His gloves were missing, but even more startling were the dark runic symbols tattooed across the back of his knuckles. That unexpected detail left her floundering; she always wondered why he wore gloves and he would never tell her when she asked. "Would you like me to leave you alone?"

His eyes swept over her, taking her in for the first time, as if just realizing she'd stayed specifically to speak to him. An inscrutable expression passed his face, as if he couldn't quite puzzle her out. When his eyes tried to catch hers, she flittered them away, a shiver of fear making her wish she'd enchanted them as well. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," she mumbled, his abrupt change of topic rattling her. "It's, um, Daphne."

His right eyebrow rose ever so slightly. "Pleasure to meet you, um-Daphne."

She flushed, realizing stumbling over her own name made it clear that it wasn't her real one. "It's just Daphne," she mumbled. So the lies began. Now how would she explain this?

"Hmm," he hummed noncommittally. "I'm Cedric."

"The sensational," she smiled, feeling the need to pay him back for unseating her so soundly, "I know. You're the Royal sorcerer of Enchancia."

For the first time he looked uneasy. "So you've heard of me. I'm not sure if that's a good thing."

She had to stop herself from blurting out some trite bit of supportive rhetoric, espousing his many talents and accomplishments. It was second nature for her to react to his self-deprecating tendencies. Toning it down considerably, she settled for a sly, secretive smile, murmuring, "Your reputation as a great sorcerer precedes you, I assure you."

Both of his brows lifted, a look of honest but pleased surprise on his face. He waved her compliments away, nonetheless. As much as he enjoyed praised, he never did seem to get the hang of graciously accepting a sincere compliment. "Yes, well, of course."

They paused a moment, and Sofia dared another slow sip of her drink. The taste was far stronger than the wines she was used to, but the strong liquor lit a slow fire in her belly. Her tongue grew accustomed to the astringent flavor by her third swallow."So, you didn't answer my question. Why are you in such a bad mood? Isn't Beltane supposed to be a festival? An overly handsy satyr informed me that tonight is a time to celebrate."

He looked at her in question. She shrugged. "I did say I'd stumbled from one bad situation to another." She motioned towards the heavy curtained doorway. "That's how I ended up in there, looking for a means of escape."

His lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line. "Are you alright?"

She flushed at his look of earnest concern. She fought a smile, knowing she'd been the one to, at least in some respects, nurture a sincere care for the well-being of others in him. "I'm fine, thank you. I can take care of myself. But you are once again distracting me from the original question."

He sighed, seeing she wasn't going to drop the subject. "It is not a matter I care to discuss."

"Something bothering you?" She prodded, truly curious. When he remained silent, she ventured to ask, "Someone?"

"My father is a man who has given me much unsolicited advice in my life, but one piece I took to heart was, when talking to a beautiful woman, it is most unwise to ever indicate that you are thinking of anyone but her."

A pleased flush heated her cheeks. _Did he just called her beautiful?_ But, then, his vague reply had effectively answered her question. She felt her heart drop. "But you are, aren't you? Thinking of someone?"

He sipped his drink and refused to answer.

Her eyes fell to her fingers where they trembled around her glass. It was hard to keep her voice even. "So why isn't she here? What is she doing on this night?"

"It's Beltane," his grumble bordered on a snarl, "What do you think she's doing?"

She blinked, the realization sinking in. Suddenly it all made sense, the drinking, the black mood. Cedric cared for someone who didn't return his feelings. She felt a strange mixture of pain and understanding, knowing exactly how he felt.

Quickly on the heels of that feeling came anger. Anger at this unnamed woman who didn't have to good sense to appreciate what caliber of man pined for her. She held Cedric in the highest regard, and would gladly sacrifice any manner of things to have him think on her the way he thought on this unworthy woman. She felt the unkind curl of jealousy sour her stomach. Suddenly, she felt a kindred sympathy that he was here, at the most licentious of pagan celebrations. If this woman had so little regard for him, it seemed only fair that he held no loyalty to her. An uncharacteristically mercenary feeling filled her.

"Is that why you're here tonight, to forget her?" She hoped it was true to some extent. But her customary honestly couldn't help but show through. "I must say, though, drinking never seemed much of a solution to me."

"Why? Do you have a better suggestion?" He finished off his glass before motioning to the bartender for another. He didn't seem the least offended by her assessment. If anything, he appeared to be giving her words consideration. "Some manner of personal _assistance_ you wish to offer?"

The dark mischievous dancing in his eyes made her breath catch. His veiled suggestion, no matter how flippant— and she knew he wasn't truly asking, just once again skirting the real issue— made her warm. Only in her fantasies had she dared cast herself in the role of his paramour. The reality seemed too surreal to contemplate. She struggled to remember that this was a game she'd played before— the playful, empty banter— but never had the steaks felt so high. She decided on deflection, not liking how eagerly she wanted to believe him. "I suppose the ballroom of debauchery is always an easy option."

His mouth pulled into a grimace. "No thank you. Not that desperate, not that drunk, and certainly much too old for such nonsense."

She let out an incredulous huff. "You are not old."

"You might be surprised. Why, I'd wager I'm old enough to be your—"

"Father," she supplied, smirking, knowing exactly how to push his buttons.

His hand fluttered to his chest in mock offense. "I was going to say handsome older brother, but I see where I rank."

She laughed, an easy, carefree sound that rang rich and breathy in her borrowed voice. He shook his head and in a moment was laughing with her. The look in his eyes told her he found her genuinely amusing. Most days at the castle she would sell her soul just to make him laugh, and here she was doing it with ease.

The barkeep set a fresh glass before him. Her own was not yet half empty but already the heady drink was going to her head. Cedric ignored his drink for the time being, turning further towards her.

"But what about you?" he asked, assessing her with a critical eye. "You have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I know nothing of you. Like, for starters, that's not how you really look."

"Oh," she tried to keep the sly smile on her face, nerves vibrating as he took in the whole of her appearance. "And how do you know that?"

He leaned forward, making her breath catch as he inhaled. "You reek of magic."

A slight shiver ran through her at his closeness. She took another sip of her drink to cover her reaction. "I'll admit, I'm not who I appear to be. I'm told that its common here. Expected even. A little deception on a night like tonight is alright, isn't it?"

"I suppose that depends on the extend of the deception." He shrugged. "For sitting here talking, sure."

"And for doing anything else?" She only meant to tease, but as the soon as the words left her mouth she realized how they must sound.

He paused with his drink halfway to his mouth. "I suppose that depends on what you had in mind."

Her cheeks warmed, realizing with a dizzying abruptness that he really was _flirting_ with her. And she was flirting back. Four years of infatuation and secret fantasies came rushing to the fore of her mind. She suddenly felt like a gangly fifteen year old again, just discovering her decidedly not-just-friendship feelings towards Mister Cedric for the first time. But, she wasn't a adolescent anymore, and she'd come of age in the royal court; she knew how to keep her words light and frivolous. How to pull back whenever she wished, hiding behind a girlish giggle, claiming she never _truly_ meant any of it. Or so she told herself, as she'd never much engaged in the practice, though she'd seen it portrayed to expert effect by her peers. Her lashes fluttered down demurely before peering back up at him. "Who says I had anything in mind? Or is my expression at odds with my words again?"

He studied her a moment, his golden irises trying to catch her own blue eyes, but again she flitted them away. He leaned in closer, sending her pulse rocketing. He simply looked at her, patiently until she felt compelled to meet his eye. Caught in his gaze, she blinked, trying to bury the sudden, unexpected desire rising in her belly.

His smile when it came was slow, a soft blossoming of realization. "No, I don't think you did have anything in mind when you said it, but I dare say you do now."

She wavered, caught by that glint in his eye again. Her princess-self wouldn't dare to take this conversation any further. Princess Sofia would blush, mumble some excuse and flee, convincing herself that she'd imagined the hint of desire reflected in his gaze. But tonight she wasn't Sofia. She was Daphne, a Freezenburg witch. A stranger. On Beltane, the most sexually charged night of the year.

He clearly didn't recognize her for who she was or he never would have taken the conversation this far. She wondered how far either of them would dare take it. Being Beltane, she suspected it was up to her to decide how far she wished to go. A delicious thrill raced through her belly, suspecting that Cedric was fully capable of taking things to their inevitable end. She sipped her drink deliberately. "Perhaps I do."

The smoky cadence of her borrowed accent helped her slip further into character, though a small part of her shrank to believe this was who he desired, a woman so far removed from her true self.

There was a subtle but unmistakable change in the air between them then, a charging reflected in the weight of his eyes on her. They caressed over the parts of her face not concealed by her mask and she could see him trying to puzzle her out, probably questioning the extent of her disguise. A fierce gladness filled her that she'd taken Lucinda's suggestion and changed as little as necessary. Cedric might not be attracted to her as Princess Sofia, but the way his eyes slid from her face taking in the whole of her figure, bespoke that he was very much attracted to her body. The knowledge flared into fruition in her belly.

"Oh?" His subtle smile was amused and more than a little pleased. "But, I thought you were leaving."

There could be no mistaking the subtle undercurrent of her tone when she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and murmured, "Perhaps, I've found a reason to stay."

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, I know I'm hiding behind the label of OOC, but let me explain a little of Cedric's motivations here. He has feeling for someone else. Someone he thinks (being Beltane and all) is out having sex with some other man right now, with no regard for him. So as a single, unattached man, I think it's understandable and forgivable for him to pick up a woman at a bar. Especially one that he is genuinely attracted to and finds interesting. So let's not be too hard on him. :P And Sofia? Well Sofia being a bit of a bad girl, isn't she? Hey, just like in her fantasy. ;)

I do want to let you all know how much I greatly, greatly appreciate your reviews and pm's. I'm sorry I don't respond personally to each and every one like some authors. I'm just too scatterbrained, and it is certainly nothing personal. The old line, "It's not you, it's me," really is true in this case. I cherish every bit of feedback and love hearing your thoughts. :)

And on that note, reviews— pretty, pretty please. :D


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Hi all! I did not intend to take the entire summer off, but I can't say I'm sorry for it. I got to spend a ton of time with the kiddos. But today is the first day of school and I now have 6 hours to myself five days a week. I see updates in the future. :)

So, this is one of those chapters that gave me absolute fits. I had no less than 5 different versions on my computer. I'll post some of the "deleted scenes" to Bits and Pieces. I must say a huge thank you to Suiren Shinju for reading over one of my more verbose drafts and setting me on a better track.

* * *

Revelry: Chapter Four

* * *

" _I felt for the tormented whirlwinds, damned for their carnal sins, committed when they let their passions rule their reason."_

-From Inferno by Dante Alighieri

* * *

Cedric raised his drink to his lips, taking a long, slow slip of burning liquor, and examined the woman seated before him. Confident but shy, bold and innocent, available yet somehow forbidden, she was temptation itself, and he'd never been good at resisting what didn't belong to him. He traced her facade with an indolent sweep of the eyes. The ruffled costume hugged her waist and bust, the neck line higher than most, offering only a hint of rounded cleavage. The hem was scandalous by court standards, up to her knee, but down right matronly for the Revelry. She gave the strong impression of a school girl fresh from seminary playing dress up in a harlot's clothes. Her only adornments lay in her feathered mask, the gauzy flowers sewn into the waist and edging of her skirts, and a black length of velvet ribbon tied around her throat. The color complimented her pale skin, as did the tell-tale magical glitter of her blond curls. The rest of her disguise was harder to discern, a seamless bind across her natural attributes. Her mouth toyed with a sultry smile, but the dimple of teeth biting into her lower lip suggested how unsure she felt playing the role of seductress.

Losing a bit of bravado after her cheeky declaration, _Daphne_ managed to empty her glass. The dutiful bartender replaced it with a fresh drink and Cedric fought back the sudden urge to intervene. It wasn't his place to caution her against inebriation if that was her wish; she was assuredly grown. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that she needed some guidance in these uncertain surroundings.

"I'd pace myself, if I were you." He lifted his drink in explanation. "Alba scotch is more potent than it seems at first. It will hit you all at once."

"I think can decide that for myself," she sniffed, taking a deep swallow as if to prove the point. She barely hid a grimace at the taste.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, keeping an eye on her nonetheless.

He couldn't decide how he felt about her company. He'd have to be blind as well as daft not to find her attractive, but there was a nagging notion that something more was at work. Magic was his first suspicion, some manner of attraction spell cast about her person. But the enchantments surrounding her remained confined to appearance only, not radiating outward.

As much as he found the whole of her attractive, he couldn't stop trying to examine her eyes. Said to be the window to the soul, he felt strongly that the answer to the puzzle she presented lay there. But every time he tried to catch her gaze, she flitted them away, piquing both interest and suspicion.

The room had ceased to be their own. Revelers filtered in, those from the curtained off ballroom looking flushed and sated with drowsy satisfaction. Daphne peered about nervously, eyes bright and curious behind her heavy make-up. She was proving such a mix of contradictions that he found himself liking her, despite his reservations.

She reminded him of— Pain knifed through his chest, strangling the air from his lungs. No, he wasn't thinking about _her_.

"So," Daphne asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them, "do you always come to the Revelry on Beltane?"

"No. This is the first time I've been in years," he found himself answering truthfully. "I much prefer the smaller, local celebrations, and the outdoor bonfires."

"Then, why …?"

"Why am I here? Ironically, because I wasn't looking for a companion for the night."

Her lips parted in a soft O of surprise. "You weren't?"

He swirled the dark liquid in the bottom of his glass. "Merely a few glasses of higher caliber liquor than my salary affords. That and to escape Wormwood's insufferable clucking."

Her eyes widened, giving her a slightly startled expression. He couldn't fathom why, except to explain that, "Wormwood's a raven. My familiar."

"Ah," she said, and nothing more.

"He'd make fine companion, except that many years ago I spilled a potion on him allowing him to talk. I don't believe he's shut up ever since."

She let out an ungainly snort, covering her mouth to keep from spitting out her drink. Once she managed to swallow, her laughter tinkled like a chorus of silver bells. He couldn't help but smile with her.

"How dreadful. And, does Wormwood," the name rolled long on her accented voice, "not approve of your plans for the night?"

"He doesn't seem to approve of much that I do lately, but a sorcerer staying in on Beltane was too much for a familiar to bear, apparently. He insisted I go somewhere, anywhere, and stop moping about—"

When he stopped abruptly, Daphne shifted in her seat. "Are we observing your father's rule again?"

He felt an honest stab of guilt. A stranger though she might be, but it was still uncouth to insinuate that he was thinking of another woman. "Yes," he answered firmly, "we are."

"Good." She smiled. "I like that rule."

He smirked at her easy humor. "And what are you usually doing on Beltane? And, Merlin's Mushroom, please tell me you are at least old enough to have experiences one or two."

"Yes," she answered a little defensive. "I've been out on Beltane before. I was at a bonfire last year. I'm only here now because of a promise to help a friend. She needed moral support and I offered my services. When she and her date appeared on good footing, I tactfully made my exit.

"To be honest, I'm not sure I like it here," she murmured, peering about at the growing collection of revelers, all ostentatious in costume, no matter how little clothing their outfit entailed. Their excess could rival the royal courts any day. "I was curious, naturally, but I feel it's not for me. I'd much rather be somewhere outside, surrounded by friends, warmed by a bonfire."

"Yes," he agreed, taking in the room with a dismissive wave, "It's all a bit impersonal here, for all the _familiar_ behavior."

She colored, perhaps remembering what ever lurid scenes she'd witnessed in the ballroom. "I was always taught that Beltane was about the spring, a celebration signifying the world bursting back to life after the long, cold days of winter," she remarked wistfully. "It's one of my favorite holidays, all the colors and flowers, the ribbons and decorations."

"Charming, but your description if one of almost infantile innocence," he remarked dryly, the alcohol dulling his sense of proper decorum. "Put all the pretty ribbons you like on it, Beltane at its core is nothing more than a fertility ritual."

"I know that," she sniped.

"Beltane is both older and darker than your rendition gives it credit for. Children dance about the May pole weaving ribbons and stuffing their faces with honey cakes—"

"Are you claiming you don't like honey cakes?" she interjected archly, almost as if she knew they were his favorite and daring him to deny it.

"That is besides the point. The festivities are for the young and innocent. At its heart, the true ritual of Beltane mirrors the flow of nature. And what does nature do during the spring?" He arched a brow, not expecting an answer. "Simply put, it fucks, be it bees, birds, or beasts. Spring is about propagation of the species. Beltane is merely the human face of forces older and stronger than our brains can comprehend. It comes from the gut, the need ingrained. The festivity of it is just the polite face we put over it to make our baser desires more palatable. Beltane is a convenient excuse allowing us free reign to indulge in those things we want to do, but are too _civilized_ to admit to the other 364 days of the year."

Her lips thinned, blue eyes going hard as diamonds and he cursed his loose tongue. A few drinks had the unsavory effect of brutal honesty on his part. She was sure to storm off in an offended huff, seeing beneath his polite veneer to the malcontent that lay beneath.

Instead, her lips twisted into a wry smile. "I very much doubt the Revelry has much to do with propagation. I'd wager everyone here is charmed to the hilt against it."

"In that you are correct," he conceded with a sly smirk. That she wasn't intimidated or offended by his more morose tendencies automatically rose her in his esteem. "The Revelry is an entity unto its self. There are no ancient rites being observed here, just pure good old fashioned overindulgence."

"Yet, despite your passionate defense of the true intent of the holiday, you didn't come here to partake of its famed debauchery?"

"It was not my intent, no. I've found I've lost my taste for it. The shine has worn off over the years. Debauchery for debauchery's sake is not as alluring as it once was. It feels ... empty. It's all pleasure and no purpose."

"It seems to me," she said, seeming to choose her words with care, "that pleasure is a thing worth exploring. That there must be some inherent redemption in experiencing pleasure for pleasure's sake."

"A thing worth exploring, I like that," he mused. "I take it this is a thing that you'd like to explore?"

She ducked her head, a shy little gesture that made his heart flutter and his loins twitch. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. A fine furrow dimpled between her brows, making her appear almost pained when she ventured, "What of the woman you mentioned before? If you are interested in more than physical release, perhaps this is a conversation you should be having with her."

"Ah," he answered slowly, wishing he'd never brought it up. It was getting on past midnight, and Daphne had proved a successful distraction against images of towering bonfires and pale limbs entwined on the grass. "Your concern is kind, but misplaced. She is … unattainable."

"There's really no hope? Are you certain?"

"Quite," he answered firmly. "It is an infatuation I'd been trying to rid myself of for some time."

"Well," she said softly, as if testing each word on her tongue for the first time, or perhaps just this new insinuation, "I've always been eager to help a friend in need."

Her lashes fluttered upward, catching him with that bright sapphire gaze that wound around his heart and squeezed it painfully tight. Her top teeth worried that little dimple into lush fullness of her bottom lip again. The uncertain gesture made him want to lean in and bite it himself. He imagined she'd taste like fresh summer strawberries with cream.

 _Fuck_ , something about this woman was turning his brain into knots. There she sat, the picture of temptation, only to discover hiding beneath the soul of innocence. It's like she'd been dropped out of the heavens just to torment him. She was so much like— He couldn't imagine _her_ in a place like this. But then he was having an increasingly difficult time imagining Daphne in a place like this, and she was actually there. Was it Daphne's innocence that attracted him to her, or merely the similarities to someone else?

"I can't help but feeling that I should send you away," he told her honestly. "That we'd both be better off if I did."

"If you don't want— That is, if you're not interested …" she trailed off, her downcast eyes not merely disappointed, but somehow heartbreaking.

They were past the theoretical now, past suggestion and banter; the time to decide had arrived. He reached out, laying a hand lightly upon her wrist. She startled, staring down where his bare skin touched hers. She was warm and smooth, her skin scented softly with something floral and alluring. When her wide eyes skipped up to meet his, he held her gaze, telling her distinctly, "I didn't say that."

They stared at each other a moment. As hard as he'd worked to catch those skittish blue eyes, he was hard pressed to hold them when the hitch in her breath pushed her breasts against the edge of her corseted bodice. Night had thickened around the hotel, leaving only the low candlelight and the fickle incandesce of the bonfires lit beyond the windows in the outdoor courtyard. The scene could be intimate, except for the increasingly intruding din of the other revelers.

At just that moment a raucous group of red painted men burst from the hallway, heading for the bar, demanding drinks. Daphne blinked, tearing her eyes away, and he was sorry for their loss. There was something to her gaze. Something that called to him. He shook his head, seeing such thoughts as nothing but nonsense and whimsy. Still, he pressed the rest of his drink away, deciding he'd had enough.

The red men struck up a bawdy tavern ditty, some lewd rendition about a maiden bathing in a river, unaware of being watched from the bushes by a young man. The lyrics were jaunty, and the unlikely chorus clasped each other about the shoulders, swinging their tankards and spilling a great quantity of ale upon the bar. Daphne narrowly avoided being doused when he had the foresight to grab her by the elbows, fairly pulling her on top of him.

One of the men disentangled himself from the group long enough to tip a contrite, exaggerated bow. His words slurred with too much drink, "Begging your pardon, my dear lady."

Rather than taking offense, Daphne giggled, flush with impish humor at the lewd lyrics and enthusiastic concert. A rosy flush colored her cheeks and Cedric suspected he'd been right about the alcohol coming upon her all at once. When she turned towards him, her eyes shown bright with mirth, a wide, amused grin on her lips, she seemed nothing but pleasantly surprised to find herself nearly in his lap.

Her expression sobered suddenly when she reached up and brushed a lock of silvery hair back from his brow. "Your hair _is_ as soft as it looks. I've always wondered."

"Thank you, I think." He quirked her an odd look. "Exactly how much had you had to drink before this?"

"Only a glass of mead. I'm not inebriated beyond reason, if that's what you're concerned with. Merely, pleasantly relaxed."

She looked more than _pleasantly relaxed_. "Are you certain?"

Her eyes caught and held his own, their sapphire luster piercing something deep and primal within his brain, tickling with recognition. Their oceanic depths darkened with desire, and any notion of familiarity was stripped away. "Yes, I am certain."

He swallowed, or perhaps gulped. She was even more enchanting, and far more irresistible in close quarters. He couldn't help winding a corkscrew curl around his finger, deciding if she had one undesirable quality, it was her hair. He didn't care for the style nor the color, despite its enchanted shimmer.

"Seeing as neither of us were particularly set on this course from the onset," he murmured, "perhaps we should hazard some experimentation before committing ourselves."

She blinked slowly, her eyes going liquid and drowsy when he loosed her curl, which promptly sprung back, and brushed the back of one finger down her neck. "Experiment?" she breathed, making his stomach clench. "What did you have in mind?"

His right brow raised, several possibilities coming to mind. "How about a kiss?"

"Just one?"

Her dismay at the prospect of _only_ one kiss forced a fond snicker from him. "I suppose that depends on how the first one goes."

She stared, hopeful but frozen. When he dipped his mouth towards hers she shook off her reverie, pursing her lips in a subtle, sensuous pout. She noised a small, helpless whimper when his lips touched hers with a softness usually reserved for emotions much deeper than those between two strangers.

 _Persephone's Pomegranates_ , he could lose himself in the feel of those lips. But then she parted them on a dreamy sigh, and – fuck. _Fuck_. Her tongue met his in a tentative, wet flourish and for the first time he gave serious consideration to the tales of fairy maidens come out of their mounds and wooden glens on Beltane to enchant unwitting men. She tilted her head, taking him deeper. Her innocent sensuality brought him stumbling abruptly back to reality, desire ricocheting throughout his entire being. A tight knot of need gathered low in his belly.

She didn't seem human. She didn't seem _real_. Too perfect, by far.

He managed to pull away just far enough to whisper, "What _are_ you doing here?"

She froze, her eyes coming alive, the pulse beneath his fingertips racing. "W-what do you mean?"

"You're much too sweet for a place like this. Certainly, for someone like me, I assure you."

"Perhaps that's the problem," she murmured, eyes softening. She leaned towards him, sweet breath whispering over that last bare inch between them, "I've had my fill of things like sweetness and innocence. Maybe I want something else. Maybe I crave a little—," she hesitated, searching, before settling on, "Darkness. I want a taste of you."

Those sooty, kohl lined lashes fluttered closed and she swayed forward. Even if he'd wanted, he couldn't resist her for all the gold in the collected kingdoms. Like the last, this kiss seared with restrained heat, the promise of it burning inside his brain. His hand slid into her hair, bringing shivers in its wake. Cupping the back of her head, he angled her for better possession by his mouth. His other hands touched lightly on her knee, sliding ever so slowly upwards. When his thumb brushed the interior of her thigh, she pulled back on a gasp.

"What have you done to me?" His tone— gone husky with want, and need, and _now, yes, gods_ — made her pupils dilate, giving her a wide-eyed appearance. "The things I want to do to you. Things I feel quite strongly I shouldn't want, but you are making me forget myself."

He captured her mouth again, scattering any response she might have made. When he pulled away this time she tried to follow his retreating lips. She _groaned_ at the loss. His lung dragged in a ragged breath, straining for control. "Should we relocate then, to somewhere more private?"

Her slow, heavy lidded blink trapped him, her eyes two drowning pools of ocean and starlight. The warm breath fanning over his face smelled faintly of honey and scotch and promise and sin. Her answer, when it came, was nearly a moan, "Yes."

* * *

Author's Note: Next chapter should be out within the week.

Side note about the red men: At modern Beltane festivals in places like Edinbourough, The Reds, as they are known, are a group of men and women who dress up in red clothing and/or cover their bodies in red paint. They are meant to represent the spirit of chaos and misrule. As per the official Beltane Fire Festiavl website, the Reds, "… have this single night each year to make merry, tempt, seduce, carry out acts of wantoness and inspire the revellers to cast aside their thoughts of the next day and abandon themselves to the excesses of the night." I'm uncertain how far back this tradition goes.

Reviews, pretty please!


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Here's that fantasy-level bondage sex I promised. ;)

I was so tempted to take this in a different, angst-ridden and longer direction. A big thank you to for taking me down off the angst ledge.

* * *

Revelry: Chapter Five

* * *

" _If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave."_

-From Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

* * *

Sofia walked, concentrating very hard on putting one foot before the other, only partially because the hallway swayed before her eyes. The alcohol helped muddle her nerves, but not enough to completely calm the frantic beating of her pulse. Cedric walked a pace ahead, leading the way through the elegant maze of corridors.

"They would have emptied the hotel of guest for the night," he explained over his shoulder, a slight sibilant slur the only indication of his own intoxicated state. "It wouldn't do to have their rich patrons subjected to the shocking antics of the revelers. Although, most are one in the same."

"Really?" She latched onto the subject, desiring a means of distraction against her whispering conscience. "What sort of people are here? Ravena— That is, my friend's date, said that all the royal magicians attend, but I'm not sure who else."

"Of course, you don't, that's the point. Nearly every guest employs some means of disguise."

Sofia was forced to shift aside when a giggling woman dressed like a monarch butterfly stumbled out of an adjacent room, her hair mused and dress askew. Through the flash of doorway, Sofia spied a seemingly unconscious man sprawled across the bed, his bare backside on full display. She hastened on, trying to regain the thread of their conversation. "But you're not in any sort of disguise."

They reached the end of the hallway and stopped. Cedric turned to her. "No, and if you were more familiar with the unspoken rules of the Revelry you'd know that anyone not in disguise largely means they don't wish to be propositioned."

"Oops," she giggled, leaning against the wall for support. "You're right. I didn't know that."

He hummed noncommittally, testing the doorknob. It turned seamlessly, the door swinging inward. Anything Sofia might have thought to say was swept aside by the sight of a massive four-poster bed dominating the room. It was as large as her own at the palace, but instead of gauzy whites and lavenders, the bedding was a rich burgundy, striped with rustic gold. Heavy velvet drapes swept back at each corner, tied with gold braided cords. A well-made set of matching furnishings sat tastefully around the room, twin night stands, dresser adorned with a large gilt mirror, and a handsome armoire. The Burgundy Rose was every bit the elegant inn she'd been told it was. Her pulse panged harder, tasting sharp and metallic in the back of her throat.

"An- and these guests," she babbled, "the ones in disguise, what sort of lives do they live beyond Beltane?"

Cedric shrugged, stepping aside to usher her in with a gentlemanly sweep of his arm. "All sort of lives, I imagine. Most are from old, magic-handling families, other are the well-to-do of society. Not royalty, mind you, the risk to reputation is too great if any one of them were ever found here, but certainly the lower levels of gentry."

She tried not to flinch at the sound of the closing door. "Risk? What risk? Nearly everyone is in disguise. And those that aren't, chose not to do so."

When he didn't answer right away, she turned to find him leaning indolently against the door, eyes heavy lidded. "Those with the most to hide are largely disguised by means of enchantment, making them feel secure, but it's more a course of curtsy that their identity is not uncovered." He waved his hand airily, wrist loose and liquid. She wondered how many glasses of scotch he'd had before she arrived at the bar. "It is another one of those unspoken rules. In truth, undoing such enchantments is no complicated feat. It can all be undone by a simple spell."

She blinked once, then twice. Slowly, she said, "Are you telling me you could undo mine any time you wish?

"I could," he drawled, a devious smile playing on his lips. Sofia swallowed, her breath coming shallow as agonizing seconds ticked by. "But, I am not going to. I assume you have your reasons for wanting anonymity. Though, I must confess, I am growing increasingly curious about you."

Relief surged so strong it weakened her knees, making her head even lighter. The litany of her muttering conscious was slowly being overtaken by the warmth of the alcohol and the dark glint in Cedric's eyes. She wet her lips, testing a slow seductive lick of her tongue before tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. "Isn't a little mystery part of the appeal?"

"There's mystery for me, but not for you. You know exactly who I am. I just wonder, why me?"

"I believe I've already said."

"Yes, yes," he waved his hand dismissively. "You have a craving for darkness. I suppose I should endeavor not to disappoint."

He looked about the room, taking in the details, considering. Sofia felt a new shiver of uncertainty as she recognized that calculating look on his face; he'd apparently taken her request for _a little darkness_ as a challenge. Several of her more lurid fantasies danced through her mind.

"If this was a proper Beltane sacrament," he murmured, stepping around her and deeper into the suite, "it would take place outside, under the stars."

She peered up at him from under the cover of her lashes, enchanted by the picture his words created.

He approached the bed, lightly touching the curtains before fingering the gold braided cord. "I'd have you naked on the grass, jeweled with nothing but firelight, crowned with hawthorn flowers."

Her lashes fluttered, heat pricking her skin at the notion that he wanted her like that. He sounded almost— _worshipful_. But, then, her heart plummeted, remembering that he wasn't speaking to _her_ , not Sofia. This wasn't a confession of a secret fantasy. How many Beltane rites had he celebrated in just such a way, in the arms of other lovers? Beltane was the day of unbridled sexual abandon, not a time for calf-eyed love.

"Oh?" She grasped for something to say, trying to keep the edge of unexpected jealousy from her voice. She dropped her head to shield her treacherous eyes. "And why am I afforded the dubious honor of a bed?"

"Because," he smiled with a wide wolfish grin, "I rather fancied the idea to tying you to it."

Her head snapped up so fast it nearly made her dizzy. Her wide blue eyes went straight to his steady, even gaze. "I— You— _What_?"

He pulled the cord loose, testing its strength before nodding approvingly. When she tried to swallow, her tongue felt like sandpaper. "Um," she said uncertainly, "are you often in the habit of tying your bedmates down?"

"I never have before." He ducked his head, looking a little shy. "It's always been a fantasy of mine. I thought you might like to give it a try. You said you wanted a little darkness. I'm thought this might fulfill your request nicely."

He waited as she chewed on her lower lip. A thousand thoughts from _Hell yes!_ to _Dear gods, what am I doing?_ ran through her foggy brain at breakneck speed. Lastly, a voice that sounded much like the man before her whispered, ' _What have you done, you naughty girl_?'

She gave him a quick, shaky nod. "Okay."

He looked to be studying her, reading the subtle signs of her body language, screaming her uncertainties. "I do understand it requires a level of trust we may not have garnered. You need not agree to anything you don't want to do."

She lifted her chin, meeting his hazel eyes. "I trust you."

A flicker of emotion passed over his face, gone before she could name it. Surprise, perhaps? But then he raised that one damning brow, a smirk sexier than she ever thought to see directed towards her twitching up the corner of his mouth. There was that darkness she craved. "Well, come here then," he beckoned.

She crossed to the bed. Its size rivaled the one in her suite at the castle, but the dark colors and high sides rendered it an alien landscape. Cedric untied another cord and curtains framed the top half of the mattress, creating a dark hollow. She felt ridiculous, intimidated by a piece of furniture, as she climbed up and sat at the edge. Standing beside her, Cedric loosened his tie, shrugging off his robe. Watching him casually shedding the layers that defined him proved more rattling than anything else they'd said or done thus far.

"I have a request," she squeaked, when he began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a pale chest sprinkled with dark, masculine hair. He stopped, waiting. "Could you turn down the lights, please?"

Bemused, her went about the room, blowing out the lanterns until only two candles shown, painting him in foreboding shadows.

When he moved towards her, she stopped him with a raised hand. "Just— One more thing, I'd like to keep my mask on."

"As you wish. Anything else?" He paused, looking at her carefully. She shook her head. "Good. Now, lie down."

She laid back, goosebumps breaking out across her skin. Over her, Cedric chuckled. She wasn't sure why, until he lifted her leg below the knee, running his fingers down the back of her calf, caressing her ankle before slipping off her heeled slipper. She flushed realizing she hadn't removed a single thing before getting on the bed, not even her shoes. She must be coming off as the most unsophisticated novice. But it hardly seemed to matter with his hands on her skin as he repeated the same motions on her other leg, only this time after removing her shoe, his hands came back up going over her knee, over the top of her thigh. Her breath caught when he slowly untied the ribbons holding her stocking up and slipped it slowly off.

His caressing hands moved down her bared calf and ankle, over her dainty foot, thumbs brushing the subtle arch underneath. She jerked, giggling.

"Ticklish, are we?" A devious grin widened across his face as his fingers brushed the underside of her foot.

"No," she pleaded in a pitiful whimper. She was indeed ticklish. "Don't, please."

He ran another teasing line down her instep, making her shriek before mercifully releasing her foot. He peeled her other stocking off. "You need to turn over."

She blinked up at the slightly spinning ceiling. "Excuse me?"

"I assume your dress is tied on in some complicated arrangement. You need assistance removing it, I'm sure."

"Oh," she tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry. "Y-yes."

She rolled over, feeling slightly ridiculous until she felt the bed dip beside her and his hands on the back of her neck. Gently, he lifted her corkscrew curls out of the way, fingertips teasing over the sensitive down beneath. He plucked free the black velvet ribbon around her throat with such slow, tantalizing grace that by the time he was done, she could barely catch her breath. When his lips whispered over her nape, her finger contracted involuntarily against the heavy bedding.

Sofia had shivered before, from cold on a snowy Wasallia day, from fear facing a new unfamiliar challenge, from revulsion when faced with an amoral enemy, but she had never shivered like this. It was like her body had gained a mind of its own, leaving things like thought and rational behind. It shivered, a fine, constant tremble through her limbs and down her spine, making her skin prickle with sensitivity. Cedric's lips trailed a line of cool fire down between her shoulders to the back of her dress. Cool air caressed every inch of bare flesh as it was slowly exposed, contrasting nicely with the heat of Cedric's hands. And everywhere he touched sent new, delicious shivers ricocheting through her.

The teasing amusement of tickling her feet evaporated, replace by a hot, slow throb as he touched her. Unseen, he'd transformed into a phantom of pure touch as his fingers worked free the ribbons of her corset dress. More form than function, the satin ties slithered easily from their moorings. Her costume didn't allow for the modesty of a shift, and each smooth tug uncovered pale, bare skin never before seen nor touched by any man. He plucked free the last eyelet and— her breath eased out on a low moan— his fingertips trailed down the long curve of her spine, towards the low expanse of her back.

When his lips trailed the same path, and his tongue flickered out tasting the dimple over her lower back, she pressed her hips against the mattress, seeking relief for the pressure building inside her core.

"Turn over," he whispered, his breath tickling the fine skin of her sacrum.

Sofia rolled carefully over, holding the front of her dress tight against her.

"Shy, are we?"

Her eyes fluttered closed, savoring his voice. Gods, it was so easy to pretend. Too easy. That he was speaking to her, not some stranger on Beltane, but her, Sofia.

"I suppose I am," she whispered, cringing at her Freezenburg accent. It was hard to think when he kissed the smooth curve of her shoulder, trailing closer to her neck.

When his fingertips eased under the strap of her sleeve, her hands contracted tighter to hold the garment in place. He favored her with a cheeky quirk of his right brow. "It will be impossible to remove your dress once your wrists are bound."

Once she was bound … to the bed … so that they could … _Dear sweet gods_ …

However hard she tried, she couldn't make her hands release their death-grip on her clothing. "Would you—

"Yes?" he asked, waiting with a rarely exhibited patience.

"Would you kiss me again, please?"

He leaned over her, a shadow in the dark. Sofia's lashed fluttered down, concentrating on feel and taste. His tongue slipped between her lips, slowly seducing her own to respond. She relaxed by degrees, breathing in the familiar fragrance of cloves and sandalwood, overlaid with the caramel honey tones of scotch. She slipped her arms out, still holding the bodice to her chest. Shivers rocked through her, harder than before. _Ah Gods_ , this was going to kill her. He barely had her dress off and she felt she might die, her heart giving out for all its pounding.

With his encouragement, she shifted up onto the bed, lying properly against the mountain of pillow. He laid his hand on one of hers, and slowly brought it up and out towards the corner of the bed. Sofia let him, reminding herself to breath. He looped the gold cord around the bed post before tying her wrist, not tight enough to hurt, but definitely secure. She gave an experimental tug. There was some slack, but not enough to reach out and touch him.

"Okay so far?"

She licked her lips, nodding.

"Good."

The hand that tied her wrist trailed back down her arm, fingers caressing in a light touch. The fluttering in her stomach churned, confusing signals of arousal and alarm tightening her skin, making it extra sensitive. Her lips parted on a puff of breath when he trailed over her collarbones and along her other arm. When his fingers encircled her wrist, she tensed.

He leaned down and she tipped her chin up eagerly to accept the comfort of his kiss. He kissed her slowly, letting her nerves ease and desire to rise again. Gradually, she relaxed into his hold, letting him unfurl her arm towards the other corner. When her other wrist was tied, she squeezed then relaxed her fists, remembering to breath slow and deep. The way Cedric's eyes glittered as he took in the sight of her bound body made her thighs clench together on a low, sweet throb.

"Still all right?" he asked, his voice gone rough.

She favored him with a brave smile, endeared that he'd concern himself with her comfort in the face of his obvious desire. Her own enchanted voice was thick with passion when she uttered a low, fervent, "Yes."

His kissed her then like he had at the bar, firm and insistent. His hands traced her body, but over the barrier of her dress. She pulled slightly on her bonds, testing their strength as she craned her neck up to deepen their kiss. He slid a hand behind her head, holding her steady as his tongue swept deep into her mouth, making her stomach tense. She realized distantly that she was moaning, making foreign, erotic noises into his mouth. He kept on kissing her, long past the moment that she was ready for more. By the time he moved to nibbling her neck, she was already panting for him to be there. She turned her head aside as he swept back her blond curls, his tongue probing the whorls of her ear.

Intent on his mouth, she hardly noticed when he'd drawn down the front of her dress until his fingers whispered over a taut nipple, making her arch into the hot, electric sensation. His lips and tongue teased her neck while his fingers caressed her aching breasts, playing one and then the other until they both tingled and tightened in the cool air. She whimpered when he shifted over her and brought his mouth down, taking the whole of her pebbled areola between his lips. His tongue flickered forcing a cry from her throat, while his fingers pinched the other peak.

Her head rolled back, thankful for the support of the pillows. Her fingers curled around the tethers, holding them tight as her back arched up, pressing herself up in offering to the delicious torment of his lips and tongue. The sensation of his mouth on her breast swirled deep inside, contracting in her core.

"Lift your hips," he instructed lowly, and she hastened to obey. He worked her dress downward, sliding it off. When he did the same to her bloomers, she clamped her knees together, drawing them up to hide herself. She arms tensed, wanting desperately to cover her breasts with her hands.

"Do you wish to stop?" he asked.

She tried to force herself to relax. "N-no."

He got up off the bed, staring down at her. She burned with shame, suddenly wanting to be free, to run, to hide. His eyes saw everything. Every part of her that she hated. That she thought inadequate.

"Gods and angels, you are beautiful," he said, before he set about removing the remainder of his clothing. He took everything off except his pants. Picking up his wand, he laid the cool tip against her low belly, uttering an unfamiliar spell. She flushed, realizing it was likely warding against conception.

Sofia tried not to squirm, wondering what in the seven hells she'd been thinking to agree to this. To ever believe it a good idea. Cedric watched her with darkened eyes as he rounded the bed, coming over her to kiss her again. His hand went to her breast again, and she forgot her doubts as his touch inched down her belly. He skated his fingers over her abdomen and hip, drawing swirling patterns against her inner thighs until they eased apart. He teased her slowly, making her wait for his touch. Making her _want_ it.

His fingers passed over her folds and she jerked sharply. Languidly, he explored every velvety depth and hollow except the most sacred of all. Her hips twitched, trying to make him touch her there, but he resisted. Against her lips, he smiled. "Impatient, aren't we?"

 _Impatient?_ she wanted to cry; she felt like they'd been at this for hours. She was terribly aroused, and he'd barely touched her. He went on, lazily fingering her lips, but not delving inside. He passed over her bud often, making her jerk each time, but he didn't stop to linger there. He was driving her absolutely mad. She pulled against the ropes, pleading, "Please."

"Hmm, begging," he hummed. "I particularly like the begging."

His mouth moved to her breast again, sucking her nipple hard before scraping with his teeth. She bucked up, crying. He drew the peak out, letting it go with a soft, wet pop. "Please, what?"

Her cheek pressed against the pillow trying to cool her flushed face. Dignity was quickly becoming a dwindling concern in the face of her desperation. "Please, touch me."

His fingers flicked over her clit, forcing another cry out of her throat. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Y-your fingers," she stuttered, unsure if she could say it. Cedric could be stubborn, but she never thought he'd apply the trait to his machinations in bed. She felt her flush reach down to the tips of her panting breasts. "Please, _gods_ , I want you to— to put them inside me."

"Since you asked _so_ nicely," he purred, before capturing her other nipple, sucking hard as he slid a single finger all the way in.

She cried out, straining against her bonds. He worked one finger in and out, then added a second, slow at first before building speed. She shut her eyes tight, seeing stars. "Oh gods," she couldn't keep from whimpering, "Oh yes."

She came around his hand, hard, hips stuttering as she contracted. The sensation was like nothing she'd experienced before from the furtive fumbling of her own hand. When he withdrew his fingers, she groaned from the loss. He shifted down the bed until his face was settled between her thighs.

"Fuck," he growled, "I have to taste you."

She barely had time to register his words before his tongue was where his hand had just been, lapping at her. She jerked against her restraints, shock and mortification warring with the decadent, hot sweep of his tongue against her most intimate flesh. His thumbs held back her damp curls, parting her lips for better access. The the brush of his bangs against the insides of her thighs tingled, making her fingers itch to run their way through that hair. She clenched her fists close, wanting more than ever to be free.

"Good gods," he whispered into her sex, "you are just as sweet as I imagined."

Her legs fell open as he feasted on her. She never knew her body could _feel_ this much, not until he was touching her. Until he was making her come, this time bucking her hips up against his mouth. He didn't break stride— sucking, licking, nibbling at her most tender flesh, making her cry and keen with each new sensation. He kept on, adding the breadth of his fingers for her to contract around. She crested those rising waves of pleasure, until her whole core felt molten, dripping with languid heat. Even when she begged, pleading that she could take no more, he didn't relent, proving her wrong. She trembled in her bonds, completely at his mercy.

By the time he released her clit, sucking it long and hard in a final, taunting kiss, she fell slack against the bed, boneless yet somehow unfulfilled. She'd lost the will or ability to count the number of times she'd come from the combination of his lips, tongue and fingers, but she still wanted— _needed_ more. Her eyes rolled up in a drugged stupor as he climbed up the bed, kneeling beside her head. His hands tore at the placket of his trousers and she instinctually knew what he wanted. At first sight of his weeping member, she didn't hesitate, craning her neck forwards to lick a salty drop from the engorged tip. When she wrapped her lips around she found him smooth and surprisingly warm. She rolled her eyes up, watching him, wanting to please him. Even if he didn't know it was her, she wanted him to _remember_ this.

Above her, Cedric groaned, bracing a hand against the headboard. She sucked at him without skill, trying to compensate with enthusiasm. She had no idea what to do, just that she liked the feel of him in her mouth. He buried his free hand in her curls, helping her keep a steady rhythm. She tried a few swipes of her tongue along his shaft, feeling clumsy, but he didn't seem to mind.

His head rolled downward, watching as her lips stretched, enveloping him. Try as she might, she couldn't take it all, gagging before she reached the base. He withdrew, repositioning, bending down to kiss her again. She felt him moving, tugging the remainder of his pants off before he settled between her thighs. Her heart rocketed into her throat, knowing what came next. He swirled the tip of his cock through her fluids, slicking over her clit then back down to her entrance. Before she could truly realize what was about to happen, he began to thrust slowly inside.

The sensation was blinding and she bit down hard on her lip. The sharp bite of pain between her hips left her dazed. She whimpered, but refused to scream. Cedric didn't seem any wiser, taking her moans as sound of pleasure. He pushed relentlessly forward, a hoarse groan rumbling in his chest. She clamped down on her lip again, biting harder. She was burning from the inside out.

"Wrap your legs around me," he panted into her ear.

She did as he bid, finding the change in angle helped. When he began to rock in languorously long strokes, the pain faded quickly. Every time his pelvis rocked forward from this angle he pressed over her nub. Before long, her moans were earnest sounds of pleasure.

By the gods and angles, she realized all at once that Cedric was _inside_ her. Loving her. Fucking her. She wasn't sure which, or if there was much difference at all. His pelvis pressed deeply into hers, making her gasp. He kissed her, and she kissed him back, trying to convey all she couldn't say. It was heaven. It was bliss. It was perfection.

Her heels dug into his back, feeling the powerful flexing of his hips. Deep inside a new climax grew, but bigger, different, because he was there— moving, rubbing her insides in the most beautiful way.

"Cedric," she groaned, no longer caring if her voice was a breathy pantomime of Freezenburg gentry. His name rolled of her tongue, the vowels languid, the consonants with a slight hard edge, but it didn't matter. It was her, murmuring his name as he made hard, hot love to her. She knew it was a fantasy, not real. She was a stranger to him, a willing, pleasing body, but for her, this meant everything.

"Gods, you're so tight," he groaned, sounding almost dismayed. He looked down her eyes and for once she looked back, holding his gaze in the low candlelight. "You feel so fucking good. Are you close?"

"Yes," she sobbed, drifting into uncharted territories of pleasure, "Yes—"

He thrust faster, harder, and her head snapped back, calling out as she came. She pulsed around him, the thickness of him lending an unholy ecstasy to her orgasm. She fell slack against her bonds, believing them both spent. She tried to catch her breath, only to lose it again when he began to move, not finished after all. Sofia opened her eyes to see him looking at her face, into her eyes, watching her like he couldn't look away.

"Please," she begged urgently, "untie me. I want to feel you. I want to touch your skin."

He reached across the bed for the nightstand, taking hold of his wand. With a whisper and a slash, her wrists were freed. She wrapped her arms around him, threading one hand deep into his hair. She pressed kiss after kiss to his neck, his jaw, his cheek, until she finally met his mouth and he thrust his tongue against hers, battling for dominance. His hips drove hard and she hitched her legs up, locking her ankles together behind his back. She was wrapped around his so completely, she could almost pretend she'd never have to let go. She felt the edge rising up to meet her, the inevitable end and there was no fighting it. She was flung suddenly into the abyss. But she wasn't alone, as he gasped at the same moment she did, his hips snapping forward strongly. Light burst behind her eyes, making her convulse and clench. She took all of him, drinking him in, amazed by the feeling of it.

Slowly, she became aware of things beyond him and her and their intimate connection. She shivered in the aftermath, unbelieving of what she'd just done— who she'd done it with, but mostly under what circumstances. He didn't even know who she was.

He reached behind him, unhooking her ankles and she let her legs slide back to the bed. She got the small consolation of a kiss before he rolled off her, unmindful of his nude state. His manhood lolled against his belly, softening. He'd flung a forearm over his eyes, trying to catch his breath. She felt suddenly and inextricable alone. She tried to move, to sit up, but realized at once that she was quite sticky and sore between her legs, so she lay back down, not sure what to do.

At length, Cedric regained his composure. "Here," he reclaimed his wand, waving it over her, reciting an unfamiliar spell. She was grateful though as it cleared the mess away quite nicely.

"Um, so ...," she tried, completely unsure what to say, "what do we do now?" She realized it was the question of a novice, but she couldn't play the part of anything but at the moment.

"Now?" He yawned, stretching before gathering the blankets out from underneath them. "I don't know about you, but I think a nap is in order. Then, if you're agreeable, afterwards, I'd very much like to have you again."

She flushed. He wanted her again after some rest. "I'd say I'm more than agreeable."

"Good," he drew the blankets up over the both of them before drawing her nude body against his. She nestled uncertainly against his chest, listening as his breathing deepened and smoothed. The heartbeat beneath her ear drummed steadily, the rhythm resembling a lullaby to her weary, sated mind. Slowly, she allowed herself to drift, falling into something like sleep.

* * *

Author's Note: So, what'd'ya think about my first attempt at bondage? Two chapters left, possibly three, if one gets unruly and I have to cut it in half. I'm trying to push this fic through relatively quick so I can turn my attention to other things. I've worked out the ending of Intoxication and I have two fics I want to post for the fall/Halloween season. Not to mention the conclusion to Into the Darkness.

Review pretty please! I'm not above begging.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Little shorter than the other chapters, but I figured it was enough for a quick post.

Minor detail, but I meant to include a mention that Sofia borrowed Lucinda's perfume, but I forgot.

* * *

Revelry: Chapter Six

* * *

" _Honest people do not hide their deeds."_

-from Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

* * *

Sofia woke feeling much too warm. Mumbling an incoherent litany, she squirmed out from under the covers before realizing the heat was coming from inside her. Drawing in a wavering sigh, she tried to catch her breath, but found she couldn't.

Her lashes fluttered open, a foreign array of dark silhouettes presented themselves to her drowsy gaze. Confusion filled her mind before the night came rushing back k, overwhelming with the memory of where she was, and whom she was with. Laid on her stomach, she pressed her face against the pillows to muffle a low moan. Tilting her rump upward and her legs apart, she opened further to the feathery soft stroking that had woken her.

Turning her face aside, mask still remarkably in place, and found Cedric lying next to her with his head propped on the hand that wasn't busy between her legs. The warmth he stirred in her melted, dissolving quickly into molten rapture. His long, practiced fingers demanded nothing except her pleasure and she sank against them, rocking her hips, helping bring herself to a slowly quivering climax.

As she shivered in the aftermath, still coming completely awake, he withdrew his fingers just enough to lazily stroke up and down the length of her womanhood.

"Mmmm," she hummed in a voice thick with sleep, "I could get used to being woken up like this."

He chuckled, a deep, amused rumbling from his chest, and leaned forward to kiss her. When she raised up on her elbows to meet him, he stole the pillow from beneath her head. Gently, he coaxed her into raising her hips so he could stuff it beneath them. When he moved between her legs, behind her, she nibbled her lip uncertainly. He knelt behind her, raking the mass of blonde curls aside to kiss the nape of her neck. Swirling his tongue against the sensitive spot, she grasped when he nipped at it with his teeth. Instinctively, her legs parted as she sank back towards him, aching for fulfillment. The pillow allowed her to rest with her hips tilted comfortably up and open and she felt the heated, slick head of his manhood teasing her lips apart. He entered her so slowly, making her desperate with anticipation.

There was only a hint of pain this time, but less distracting due to the suffusion of fiery pleasure. He filled her completely, stretching her so sweetly tight from this angle, that she found the sensation of their joined bodies all the more alluring for the lack of other physical contact. He went slowly at first, grinding his hips in deep, languid strokes while his hands held her hips. One hand reached around to cup her breast, rolling a turgid nipple between his fingers.

Sofia dropped to her elbows, arching back in a wordless plea for deeper possession. The torrid heat of him buried so deep within forced out ragged sobs of pleasure tumbling from her panting lips. It wasn't like before with his body stretched over top of hers. This was less personal, but somehow more decadent. She dared to test a slow drag of her hips forward before easing back back against him and was rewarded with a low, masculine groan. His hand gripped her suddenly, holding steady as he lost any semblance of control and pounded hard enough for their flesh to sound together with each rapid thrust.

Her fingers curled against the mattress, blond hair tossed over her face, in her mouth as she screamed, her core melting to molten fire. His climax followed closely behind her own, groaning as he came.

Sated in a way she'd never been before, Sofia hardly took not as events repeated themselves, the same series of clean up, rearranging pillows and blankets. Again she found herself falling into an exhausted sleep, this time with her back snuggled tightly to Cedric's chest, his arm thrown heavily over her waist.

She woke not long after, unable to truly sleep as the dawn was quickly approaching. When she shifted in his arms, Cedric murmured something insensible, pulling her tightly to him. They traded languid kisses, both fairly spent, but as the desire built in her core, she found herself remarkably renewed. This time he helped her straddle his lap. Those long sorcerer's fingers splayed across her hips, guiding her in a steady, rolling rhythm. She sat up, no longer caring about modesty, brazenly baring the long naked line of her body. When her neck bent back on a moan, those false corkscrew curls only tickled the tips of her shoulders, whereas her own hair would have gone halfway down her back. Cedric sat up, mouthing her breast. She slid a possessive hand into his hair, holding him to her as she moaned his name.

He murmured a low, sibilant sound, too quiet for her to hear, the single word cut off on a hasty gasp. He pulled her tightly against him and again she found herself lost in a spiral of pleasure that felt unending.

When they drowsed together for a third time, Sofia forced herself to remain awake. The siren's song of sleep beckoned, sweetened by Cedric's warm, naked body and thrumming heartbeat, but she resisted its call. Languishing, unwilling to leave his arms, she tried not to think on the reality of the coming dawn. They'd never do this again. Come the morning's light she'd be proper Princess-soon-to-be-Duchess Sofia and he'd once again be the aloof Royal-Sorcerer-Mister Cedric. They only difference is that she'd know in whose arms she'd spent the night, but he never would. He'd never again look at her as he had this night.

Slowly, she unwrapped his arms, shifting carefully off the bed, searching for her costume and under things. She dressed quietly, setting everything to rights as best she could without the help of an extra set of hands.

As she slipped her last heel on, she knew there were no more excuses to stay. Like some lurid version of Cinderella leaving the ball at midnight, she felt that she must be gone from the Revelry before dawn. Her enchantments would hold, not bound by time, but the cleaning light of day would do more to strip away the reality of her deeds than any spell ever could. Though she knew she shouldn't, tormenting herself with the temptation, she paused to look down upon Cedric's sleeping face. He lay there, relaxed in sleep, more open than she'd ever seen him at the castle. Her eyes trailed the pale length of his skin, down his arms to the runes tattooed across the backs of his fingers. She resisted the urge to reach out and trace those enigmatic glyphs, realizing once again that she really didn't know him at all.

With a strangling tightness in her chest, she forced her eyes away and her feet towards the door. Beltane night was over and with it her fantasy. What the harsh reality of day brought was the certain knowledge that, while she may have had a taste of him, Cedric would never be hers.

* * *

Cedric's eyes opened at the same moment the door clicked softly closed. He sighed, rolling onto his back, limbs sprawled across the rumbled sheets. He'd woken the moment "Daphne" slipped from his embrace, leaving him cold, longing to draw her warm body back down to the bed. Simply to hold her, as he was too spent for anything more. As it was, it had taken all his resistance, fighting with himself the entire time she dressed not to plead for her real identity. To extract some means of seeing her again. But then that would hardly be fair to the poor girl. He didn't want her, he wanted the fantasy of her. Of who she _could_ be.

Maybe. Possibly. If the stars and moon realigned, and the sky turned green, and King Roland decided to abdicate his thrown tomorrow and name Cedric his successor, and every other impossible occurrence happened, then, yes, maybe it was conceivable that Daphne was who he wanted her to be.

His scrubbed both hands over his tired face, groaning. He blamed it all on her eyes. Not that all of her wasn't pleasing, but it was her gods-damned sapphire blue eyes that got him. Familiar eyes.

"Fucking idiot," he grumbled to the empty room. It was one thing to lust after someone unattainable, it was another to sleep with a stranger pretending it was them. That made him not just a fucking idiot, but a _twisted_ fucking idiot.

Poor Daphne, though he imagined she'd gotten what she'd wanted in the end. And he couldn't fault her for wanting nothing more. Her anonymity had played to his advantage as well. So sweet and open, even while hiding behind her Beltane guise, she stirred in him a real feeling of trust— That he could be himself in a way he rarely was with anyone, least of all the young woman he pined for. There was a certain appeal to the fact that he hadn't disguised any part of his identity, and yet Daphne had wanted him anyway. He'd forgone any of the usual Revelry tricks of glamours, costumes, or even a mask. The girl's unself-conscious attitude proved refreshing. He didn't know many people with that level of self-assuredness, and only one who wasn't merely deluded about their self-worth.

He lay staring at the foreign ceiling of the impersonal inn, a fitting setting for empty, loveless sex. He hadn't been lying when he told Daphne how debauchery for debauchery's sake had lost its appeal. He hadn't come to the Revelry seeking a partner for the night, and he certainly hadn't expected to find one willing to indulge in his fantasies with such beatific grace. Any number of revelers would jump at the opportunity to be tied up and pleasured, but that was only part of the allure. What he wanted was his partner's trust.

He wanted someone to look on him the way Daphne had when she'd levelled him with her deep blue eyes, declaring with a firm conviction, "I trust you."

In that moment she'd looked more than ever like the woman he wished her to be. And the fantasy had been too much to ignore. What would Daphne think, knowing the entire time he'd been picturing her as someone else? The revelry was made for fantasy, and Daphne surely had an agenda of her own, still he didn't wish to injure her by letting her know the truth.

He almost had, just at the end. When Daphne tipped her head back moaning his name as no woman ever had, especially on a one-night stand, he'd nearly lost his senses completely. Nearly called her by the wrong name—

Nearly called her _Sofia_.

He threw the covers off with a frustrated flourish, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. Raking both hand through his hair he tried to push _her_ back to the recesses of his mind. He might feel a twinge of guilt for deceiving Daphne, but the idea of the princess's judgement if she knew how he'd spent his Beltane felt like having a hollow hole carved out of his chest.

He got up, deciding he was no longer drunk enough for self-reflection. They'd be no more sleep here, not in this bed that smelled so distinctly of his activities with Daphne, making his member stir with half-hearted arousal at the memory.

"Masochist," he grumbled at his treacherous crotch before gathering his pants. He dressed quickly, smoothing down his rumpled hair. With a wave and a flick the room was set to rights. He had no wish to walk through the shambles of the party and was about to transport himself directly into his room at the castle when something dark and curled caught his eye against the bedding. He reached out, plucking up Daphne's black velvet ribbon, the simple decoration she'd worn around her throat. He brought it to his nose, inhaling the foreign perfume, under-laced with something familiar but too elusive to name.

Unsure why he'd wish to have any reminder if he felt so guilty about this night, he tucked the token into his pocket. With a raise of his wand he disappeared in a swirl of green smoke, reappearing in his workshop at the castle.

The transition made him stagger forward, the remnants of too much alcohol causing a pounding in his head. Getting his bearings, he stumbled towards his workbench.

"My, my," a haughty voice murmured, heavy with judgment, "I thought you were just going to make your obligatory appearances and leave, hmm?"

"Fuck off, Wormwood," he grumbled, rummaging in his desk drawer for a potion of headache treatment.

The raven tisked, gliding down from his perch to land on the desk. Even the clicking of his talons against the wood sounded far too loud for Cedric's tender head. "It's nearly dawn, you know."

"I really wish you would shut up."

"And, right now, I wish I didn't have such a keen sense of smell. We can't have everything we want, now can we? You smell like a distillery collided with a brothel."

Cedric found the potion he was searching for, throwing it back in one shot. He winced as it took hold, momentarily intensifying the pain before smoothing it out. "Still sober enough to hex you into next week if you don't bugger off."

The raven harrumphed, ruffling his feathers. "For someone who just got laid, you'd think you'd have a better disposition."

Cedric frowned, fighting down a blush. He hated that Wormwood knew, he always knew, when Cedric had been up to some less than scrupulous behaviors. Sharing nefarious plots for usurping an empire was one thing, having your familiar able to name every ditsy-headed doxy you'd distracted yourself with was another matter entirely. "Must we do this again? I already have one mother, I don't need a second."

"Well someone needs to remind you of your poor judgment, especially in this arena. Remember that drama teacher that had you moping for weeks after she dumped you. And then who is left pick up the pieces of your latest mistake? Me."

Wearily Cedric shrugged off his robe, hanging it up before sitting down to take his shoes off. "What can I say," Cedric hissed acidly, "you're the patron martyr of one-night stands."

Wormwood hopped closer, sniffing. His beady eyes went wide, the feathers along his back ruffling. "Oh, Cedric, you moron, what have you done?"

Cedric pushed him away, finding his familiar's behavior eminently bizarre. "It's Beltane," he glanced at the light just cresting the tower windows, "or rather it was Beltane. What do you think I did? You were the one that insisted I leave my 'bloody tower' and stop 'pissing and moaning' over the princess. I simply … found an adequate means of distraction."

"I told you to distract yourself _from_ the princess, not distract yourself _with_ her," Wormwood hissed, throwing up his wingtips in defeat. "Oh gods, you'll never stop moping now. You'll be insufferable after this."

Cedric rubbed his temples, Wormwood's squawking threatening another headache, potion or no potion. "What on earth are you babbling about?"

"Don't try to be coy with me," he huffed. "There's no use in lying. You positively _reek_ of her."

"Of who?" Cedric shouted, too tired and certainly too hungover to play any sort of games.

"Of the princess," the raven snapped. "Of Sofia. Though it's cloaked in some cloying perfume, I'd recognize her obnoxious scent anywhere."

Cedric blinked once, then twice, staring into Wormwood's black beaded eyes. The raven stared back, unwavering in his judgment. The sorcerer tore his eyes away first, mind racing. Weakly, his finger sought his pocket, closing over the black ribbon there. He raised it again to his nose, sniffing. A faint trace of scents floral and alluring lingered, and beneath that something tugging and familiar. Astonishment clogged the voice in his throat, making it sound weak when he asked, "Sofia?"

"Yes, Sofia." Wormwood rolled his eyes, sighing. "Merlin's Mushroom, don't try to tell me you were so drunk you didn't know who you spent the night with."

Cedric's fist clench, crushing the delicate velvet. "Apparently not."

* * *

Author's Note: Bam! Wormwood breaking the news to Cedric!

Know how I said I'd be done in two more chapters? Yeah, I lied. Which is not to say I'm writing any more than I originally planned, just that given the pacing of the story so far I decided to cut up the ending into a few additional chapters to keep the pace the same. All told you're looking at another three chapters and an epilogue.

Fun fact: Ravens do have an acute sense of smell.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: I only have access to Netflix, so I have not seen season four. I make mention of Sofia as Protector of the Ever Realms. I got that off the Disney wiki, So I hope I'm referencing it correctly. I know a lot of what Sofia does is largely secret, but I figured since she's older it might not be inconceivable that her various roles are more publicly known.

I don't think I ever mentioned the amulet in this story. Obviously, Sofia no longer wears it, or else the whole secret identity thing would have gone right out the window. I'm a little uncertain about her storykeeper role. It sounds like not every princess who wore the amulet of avalor was a storykeeper. And, I always thought Tilly was still a storykeeper even though she hadn't worn the amulet in years. So, in my cobbled together world here, Sofia does not wear the amulet but she is still a story keeper.

* * *

Revelry: Chapter Seven

* * *

" _I never lie," I said offhand. "At least not to those I don't love."_

-from The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice

* * *

"Rise and shine," a voice sang out, startling Sofia from sleep with its closeness.

She rolled over, immediately regretting the action. Amber's face hovered near her own, her hazel eyes far too chipper for so early in the day.

"Uh," Sofia grumbled, wincing as the bright spring sun stabbed through her eyes like a thousand tiny needles. Her head pounded and parts of her ached that had never ached before. Each bodily complain vied for attention in a concert of misery, all quickly outpaced by the immediate threat of her rolling stomach.

Amber drew back with a sneer, waving a hand before her pert nose to ward of the offense of her sister's breath. "Snow White's poisoned apples! What did you get up to last night?"

Sofia buried her head beneath the pillows, shutting out the sun's glare, and dampening Amber's soprano tones. With a few careful deep breaths, her stomach began to settle down somewhere close to her navel again. "I may have had a bit too much to drink," she mumbled.

"I should say so. You're breath smells like James's unwashed socks after squire practice."

She couldn't argue there. Her mouth did taste a bit as if someone had been trampling through it all night, but less one smelly prince and more a herd of unruly livestock. Carefully, she blinked her way out from under the bedding, taking the chance of sitting up right. Her stomach grumbled, but it would have to wait in line behind the stinging throb between her legs, making it clear that she'd over done Beltane in more ways than one.

A low flush spread over her cheeks. She darted her eyes over to her sister. "What is it you're doing here again?"

"You certainly didn't forget, so don't even try to pretend that you did. Get up and get dressed. I need your help setting up the formal tea room."

 _Tea room?_ Right, she remembered with a silent groan, Amber's Annual Post-Beltane Tea Soirée. Only in its second year, the gathering was a paper-thin excuse to sit in relative privacy with their peers and gossip about the previous day's scandals.

"But, that's not until this afternoon," she protested.

Amber raised a delicate, manicured brow. "It is this afternoon, Sofia. You've been asleep all morning." Her eyes sharpened with a cat-like predatory sheen. "What did you get up to last night?"

"N-nothing," she stuttered, hoping she didn't give herself away with a telling blush. "I simply partook of too much mead is all."

"Mm-hmm," her sister drawled, the glint in her eyes clearly saying that she would find out the truth sooner or later. "Well, get dressed and meet me downstairs. The floral arrangements are all wrong, and I need you to work out the final seating plan. And, Sofia," she smiled sweetly as she sailed out of the door as quickly as she'd come, "do remember to brush your teeth."

Sofia flopped back against the pillows, the memory of the previous night shuttering through her. Her dismal flight from Cedric's arms, back to her room at the castle stood out sharply, contracting with the evocative activities that had come before.

Once she'd slipped from the room, tiptoeing down the Burgundy Rose's hallways, she'd found the Revelry fallen into shambles. The dark glitter of the party had faded, peeling away to reveal the gritty underside of reality. She had to step over the occasional sleeping body of a drooling satyr or dozing fairy, their costumes drooping and askew, no longer as alluring as they once were. Inn employees hustled silently about, collecting empty glasses, sweeping away the unsightly detritus left behind by the revelers. Shyly, she inquired to a petite maid about a carriage home. The woman politely informed her that all hired coaches were free for the evening, waiting outside. Sofia thanked her profusely, partially for showing her to the door, but mostly for the nonjudgmental aplomb she showed in the face of Sofia's rumpled appearance.

Tottering out into the gloom of the misty pre-dawn hours, she climbed into a waiting coach, giving the driver Lucinda's address. Along the ride, she busied herself, transforming her costume back into a suitable gown and undoing the various glamors over her make-up and hair. Rousing the sleeping witch with a few carefully aimed rocks at her bedroom window proved no easy task, but it was child's play compared to holding Lucinda's probing questions at bay. Sofia hadn't the will nor the heart to relay the events of the evening, an unprecedented guilt stealing upon her with the rising sun. She managed to put the girl off, promising an explanation at a later date if Lucinda would only please, please lend her a broom to ride back to the castle.

She'd crawled through her bedroom window just as the sun crested the far hills.

The comfort of her own bed nearly brought her to tears. Wearily, she stripped off her gown, threw on a fresh shift and crawled beneath the covers to fall into a sleep like death. She hadn't so much as twitched until Amber's pronouncement that she not only rise, but shine and get on with the day. The desire to remain in bed, to pull the covers over her head and hide, were far more tempting than she cared to admit. But it was a futile dream. Amber would only come back, dragging Sofia out of bed by her toes if necessary.

Reluctantly, she threw back the covers, forcing herself away from the tempting security of her bed. She set about first pouring herself a glass of water from the bedside pitcher. Though her stomach protested, she knew hydration was the best thing for the predicament of her unlikely hangover. A potion could cure her symptoms easily, but then she'd have to obtain one from the one person she couldn't bear to see. Not yet.

No, she couldn't think on that just now, on how it would feel to see him again as herself. To see in his eyes nothing more than fond friendship and polite respect. Instead she concentrated on the more pressing matters of her protesting bladder and foul-tasting mouth.

After making her morning ablutions, she brushed the heavy mass of her wavy hair, regarding it with a frown. She liked her hair, but wished it possessed more curls rather than the subtle wave that ran the full length down to her middle back. Standing before the dressing mirror, she tested a few looks, wishing for something to make her appear more mature. Twisting the heavy mass back off her neck, holding it up, she turned her head back and forth, looking from various angles, before giving up with a sigh. The auburn color suited her nicely, but sometimes she wished for Amber's straight fall of honey blonde or Lucinda's loose, silky ringlets.

Her eyes wandered over her reflection, down the prim white shift that covered the rest of her to her ankles. With a furtive glance at the door, she hurried over, throwing the lock, checking twice to make sure it was shut tight. Slowly she came back to the mirror, where with trembling hands, she drew the shift upwards and off.

She surveyed herself, cloaked in nothing but bare skin and the long waves of hair. With maids to dress her and schedules to keep all day long, she'd never spared much time for the vanity of examining her own body. Her arms curled self-consciously over her breasts as she nibbled a ragged fingernail. Turning around, she peeked over her shoulder at the gentle swell of her backside, the long smooth expanse of her back. She was attractive, she supposed, in a conventional sense. She had the desirable attribute of the pale, ivory skin that other girls envied, bathing in milks and tonics, garbing their bodies in long sleeved gowns, gloves and wide-brimmed hats to persevere from the browning rays of the sun. Sofia never had to resort to such measures. No matter how much time she spent outdoors, her skin never took on more than a rosy pink over her nose and cheeks before fading back to its customary alabaster.

Turning forward, she forced her arms down, making herself examine what she considered the damningly unattractive aspects of her heavy breasts and too-muscular thighs. She wasn't at all like her step-sister, with her willowy dancer's frame, nor was she like the other princesses who set themselves no more physically taxing tasks than fine needle point or classical painting. She possessed the body of an athlete, capable and strong, overlaid with her mother's curvy physique and her father's pale Freezenburg complexion and stormy blue eyes.

She remembered Cedric whispered words in the dark, _"By all the gods and angels, you are beautiful."_

If he thought Daphne was beautiful, did he ever think the same of Sofia?

After careful examination, she could find no tell-tale signs that anything untoward had happened the last night. Despite the deep, intimate ache between her hips, she saw nothing to suggest she'd woken this day completely transformed. Cedric had awoken in her a carnal knowledge, imprinting her very flesh with the immutable memory of pleasure. Her scheme had not only changed her physically, but opened a Pandora's Box of desires. Even tired and sick and aching, the memory of their bodies entwined made her heart race and her breast tingle. Her nipples tightened and swelled, sensitive to the cool breeze though the curtains. She closed her eyes, taking in a deep draw of fresh spring air, heavy with the fragrance of honeysuckle and hawthorn.

 _"If this was a proper Beltane sacrament, it would take place outside, under the stars. I'd have you naked on the grass, jeweled with nothing but firelight, crowned with hawthorn flowers."_

The memory of his husky, reverential voice filled her with unspeakable longing. To be with him like that, naked and unashamed under the open sky …

One hand crept over her breast, palming its heavy weight as she squeezed an aching nipple. The other skated down her belly, slipping past the dark nest of silky brown curls so dark they appeared black even in the sunlight. A ragged breath shivered out as her fingertips slipped gently through her damp, puffy folds, passing over the little distended bud that Cedric had so lovingly tended with his tongue the night before. Her knees went weak with the memory of it.

"Princess?"

Violet's prim knocked sounded though the room like cannon fire. Sofia snatched her hands away from her body as if they'd burned her. She dove for the bed, shoving the shift back on, twitching the ends down to cover her treacherous body.

"Princess," Violet called through the door, "will'ya be needing help dressing?"

Sofia took a moment to make sure she was decent, trying in vain to cool her flushed face between pale hands before twisting the lock open. Her lady's maid stood in the hall, her face scrunched up in confusion. "What'ya have the door locked for?"

Sofia gave a helpless shrug, reluctantly finding another lie as her most convenient excuse. "I didn't realize it was. Perhaps Amber locked it on accident on her way out."

Violet shook her head, examining the bolt mechanism. "Odd. I'll have M'ster Baileywick took a look. Now, what should we dress you in for Miss Amber's tea party?" She glanced up, pausing to take in the younger woman's flushed face. "You feelin' alright? Not coming down with a fever, are you?"

"No. No, I'm fine. H-how about the periwinkle one with the little white cuffs?" she asked hopefully, knowing gowns were the quickest route to distracting her overly observant maid.

"I've said a dozen times, t'is a stuffy dress for a matron, not a young lady. I was thinking the cream organza. You know the one I mean, the one embroidered with those darling burgundy roses."

Sofia paled, offering a wane smile when Violet looked at her hopefully. Awake for only twenty minutes and already the day felt long. She suspected that it was destined to be longer still as she moved to the closet, trying to find a suitable dress, anything besides the cream organza with burgundy roses.

* * *

Surrounded by the gentle hum of feminine chatter, Sofia slipped delicately at a cup of peppermint tea. She ignored the trays before her, heavy with sweets and cakes, her stomach only settled enough to accept a meager meal of dry scone.

"Sofia," Hildegarde drawled, helping herself to a petite four, "Is it true what I've heard? Are you really to be named a duchess before the season's end?"

Sofia tried not to cringe, wondering how she'd never noticed how nasally the Freezenburg accent could sound, especially when pitched in disapproval. She managed a brittle smile. "Yes, it's true. Our Aunt Tilly has named me successor to her title and lands. She's to be married to Sir Bartleby in June. They'll be moving to a new estate together in the south of Enchancia."

"My goodness," the black-haired beauty huffed in distress, "that is just shocking. I would rather die than have my title stripped from me."

"Except, perhaps to exchange it for the rank of queen, I'm sure," Cleo interjected brightly, trying to be helpful.

A collective titter rose around the table, all except Sofia, and Amber, she noticed.

The blond tilted her pert nose in the air. "Sofia is choosing to take on the title of duchess so that she can better focus on her duties as Storykeeper and Protector of the Ever Realm. She's following in our aunt's footsteps, who, you may recall, is a decorated hero throughout the kingdoms." She reached over, giving her sister's hand a squeeze. "I, for one, am very proud of her."

Hildegarde sipped her tea and said nothing, but the twist of her painted lips suggested that Amber's subtle admonishments left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Is it true you won't be expected to marry?" a shy voice asked.

Sofia turned to find Princess Jun looking towards her with an imploring expression. It was no secret that Wei-Ling still employed the archaic methods of astrological forecasts and arranged marriage to ensure their dynasty line.

"No," Sofia answered gently, mindful of Jun's impending wedding to a man she barely knew. "I won't be pressured to marry, not until I decide that I am good and ready. Why our Aunt Tilly is in her mid-forties."

"Forty!" Hildegarde yelped, sounding as if Sofia may has well have said _dead_. "Marrying at such an age. To think."

"But Sofia," Vivian broke in, her large green eyes shining with earnestness, "don't you want things like love and marriage and family?"

"Perhaps, someday, but for right now I'm far too busy to settle down. There's so much for me to do."

"Well," Hildegarde interrupted again, cunning sharpening the edges of her sneer, "if not for love, then what about pleasure? You don't plan to remain a virgin until you're forty, do you?"

If Sofia could have avoided the question gracefully, she would have, but she found herself the object of avid interest as all eyes turned her way.

"No," she answered firmly, earning a scandalized gasp or two, "I do not intend to remain chaste until marriage. Why should I? Why must things like pleasure and- and sex be confined solely to the bonds of matrimony? Just yesterday we celebrated Beltane, a holiday not dedicated to love or even fidelity. It's about fertility and- and _fucking_ , plain and simple."

Looking around, she found several pale faces, some appearing on the verge of fainting, but all were rapt by her impassioned, candid speech.

"We weave ribbons and dance complicated patterns and," she lifted her cup, "drink tea up to our ears, but it's all a polite façade, a thin veneer over our base desires."

She pinned Hildegarde with a knowing stare, watching as her haughty expression slowly crumbled. "You, Hildegrade, cannot tell me that you haven't ever laid awake some nights, desiring real, human touch. I don't mean a gentlemanly hand on your waist during a waltz, or those little, accidental touches against arm or waist when the maid helps you into your shift at bed time. I mean real, sinful, decadent touch of bare skin to bare skin. Of a man's body draped over your own, his hips between your thighs. Of passion, overwhelming and unrelenting that threatened to burn you alive from the inside outward. And of pleasure. Pleasure for pleasure's sake, without purpose or reason. Who here can honestly claim they've never dreamt of those things?"

By the time she finished, the room rang with silence. Not the clatter of silverware nor the bright clink of china intruded on the stunned, captivated quiet as each young lady sat wrapped in their own envisioning's of what Sofia's words had painted for them. Hildegarde stared into the middle distance, looking somewhere past Sofia's right shoulder, seeing an internal vista privy to only her. Open longing softened the curves of her pretty features. Looking around at similar expressions around the room, Sofia couldn't feel proud that she'd rendered the Freezenburg princess silent. She may have hit upon their deepest pleasures, but Sofia also knew she'd callously peeled back the surface of their deepest fears, that they would never know such passion as she spoke of in their carefully constructed lives.

Vivian tapped her finger against the rim of her cup, face flushed but also thoughtful. "But what is passion without love? What is pleasure without emotion to give it weight? It's like eating cake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It's nice in small amounts, but grows tiresome after a time. The body may crave pleasure, but what about the soul?"

Sofia's lips parted, Vivian's gentle, measured argument cutting away all her defenses. She remembered Cedric's world-weary voice saying, _"Debauchery for debauchery's sake is not as alluring as it once was. It feels empty. It's all pleasure and no purpose."_

She dropped her eyes, unable to hold Vivian's open, honest gaze.

"I would want both." The answered tumbled from her lips before she knew it herself. "If given the choice, I would want to have both in one man. Someone who awoke those desires in me at night, but also loved me just as I am during the day. But, I think we all know, we can't always get what we want."

* * *

The tea party struggled to regain any semblance of polite chatter afterwards. Amber rose with the graceful poise of a born queen, ushering her guests out towards the south lawn to enjoy the sunshine, cool breeze, and games of croquette.

As the other princesses filed out, she linked her arm with Sofia's. "I really must commend you," she whispered conspiratorially, "I don't think even I have ever succeeded in rendering Hildegarde completely speechless, despite years of trying. But, Sofia, wherever did you learn such shocking language?"

Her lips twisted on a rueful smile. "I don't recall."

Her sister sniffed. "Must be the company you keep, always traipsing about with witches and trolls and," she shuttered delicately, "common folk."

Sofia let the inelegant jib at her wide variety of companions pass by, too tired to unearth an old argument. As they wandered into the hall, she ran a hand though her long, loose hair. A sudden, unaccountable tingle itch along the back of her neck.

"Well, I can't complain," Amber giggled. "I thought Hidly was going to turn blue from the shock. She deserved it, being such a bore. How dare she insult you like that, about your new title. I'm glad I picked an activity I know she's bad at. Come on, let's go see about trouncing her in a game of croquette."

"You go on. I'll be right out." The uncomfortable itch radiated down her spine, raising the fine hairs at the back of her neck.

"Don't be long," Amber instructed, adjusting her skirts so they fell in the most elegant drape before floating out onto the veranda. Sofia heard her clapping her hands, calling the other young ladies to attention.

Standing in the hall, Sofia couldn't shake off the prickling feeling. She rolled her shoulders back, but it remained, the steadfast, preternatural feeling of being _watched_. She cast her eyes towards the tea room behind, finding nothing but servants busily clearing away the plates and empty cups. No one stopped to so much as glance her way, each busy in their task.

"Excuse me, Miss," a harried maid bobbed a quick curtsy, arms laden with a tray of empty tea cups.

Sofia mumbled and apology, stepping aside, eyes still sweeping slowly around. She caught her breath at the lone, dark figure lounging beside the doorway as if he'd been waiting for something or someone. She hadn't seen him so near when she'd exited the room, distracted by Amber's chatter.

Cedric stood there, leaning a shoulder against the wall, watching her with eyes darkened to an inscrutable gold. He level stare flayed her with hot waves of embarrassment mingle with newfound desire. Blood pounded to her face in an instant, stripping away any pretense she might have entertained of cool indifference. She blinked, looked away, looked back, and was surprised to find that in the space of that one moment his features had transformed, a wide smile brightening her face.

"Good morning, Princess," he sang cheerfully, looking not a bit as if he'd spent the night imbibing in drink and debauchery. If she hadn't been witness and participant to it, she never would have been any wiser that he'd celebrated Beltane so _vigorously_.

Sofia blinked, uncertain if she'd imagined the steady, hard look in his eyes not a moment ago. He pushed away from the wall, coming towards her and she was forced to suppress the frantic beating of her heart and make polite conversation. "G-good morning, Mister Cedric. H-how are you doing today?"

"Fine. And how are you on this lovely spring day?"

He stopped close to her, too close for her comfort. She swallowed, trying to whet her suddenly dry throat. "F-fine. Fine. I'm fine. And, how are you doing?"

His smirk weakened her knees. "You already asked me that."

"Did I?" she muttered distantly, trying to push back the memory of his hands against her. _Inside_ her.

"Yes. So now that we have established that we are both, in fact, fine today, how was your Beltane? You were," he tapped a finger to his lips _—Oh gods, his lips, his mouth, touching her neck, her breasts, kissing her between her legs—_ He seemed to be trying to remember something. "You were going to spend the night with that witch friend of yours, Lucinda is it, and her coven, how was that?"

"Fine," she sputtered, realizing she really needed to find some other words to expand her vocabulary. "It was good. Bonfires, mead, music, dancing, nothing out of the ordinary."

He didn't offer a reply, standing patiently, _watching_ her. She realized he was waiting for something on her part. Nervously, she tucked a loose stand of hair behind her ear. "And, your Beltane, how what that?"

If it took him a beat too long to answer, Sofia chalked it up to her shattered nerves.

"It was," he said slowly, "educational."

"Ah," she said, having no idea how to respond to that enigmatic statement. She flushed nonetheless, remembered the feeling of her nails biting into braided cord. Yes, _educational_ was one word to describe it. Gods, she had to get away from him. She couldn't possibly do this now, it was far too soon. "I'm afraid I must be going. Amber has this party today, they'll be waiting for me."

He hummed noncommittally, his eyes glittering as they had last night. She tore her gaze away, feeling a bit like a child getting their hand slapped for dipping into the cookie jar before dinner.

"Well, good day," she managed, lifting her skirts to move around him. Except that he stepped in her way, making her stop short or risk a collision. She stepped back like his very presence had the power to burn her if she got too close.

"Have I ever told you," he remarked in a light, conversational tone, even as his eyes sharpened with cunning, "how much I like your hair?"

"I- I can't say that you have," she stuttered, working hard to make words form in her sluggish mind.

He reached out audaciously plucking up an auburn lock, wrapping it around his finger. The breath stalled in her lungs, entranced by the intimacy of such a personal caress. He'd never touched her, Sofia, like that. Never implied he'd ever considered it.

"I do," he murmured, rubbing the glossy coil between his thumb and forefinger. "The style and color particularly. And, it is just as soft as I always imagined."

A hot bolt of warning contracted in her stomach. She felt her face pale, trembling as he wrapped the long skein round and round his finger, pulling it tight. A subtle tug encouraged her a step closer. At the same moment, he leaned forward putting his lips close to her ear. His breath wafted over the sensitive whorls on a hot whisper, "Blonde does not become you, Sofia, nor do lies."

She choked on a gasp. _He knew? He knew! How did he know?_

Cedric let her hair go, stepping back. He raised one impertinent eyebrow, pinning her with a knowing look. She trembled, frozen in his sights. From the veranda, Amber called her name.

"I—" Sofia sucked in a much-needed breath. "I can explain."

His rumbling chuckle mocked her paltry words. "I would dearly love to hear you try."

Despite her declaration, she stood wordless, nothing adequate coming to mind. Amber called for her once again, losing patience.

Sofia jumped when the warmth of Cedric's fingertips wrapped around her wrist, contrasting with the flinty strength of his grip. He turned her palm over, pressing something into her hand. Her fingers contracted around it as if grasping a life line. His touch dropped away, and she looked down finding Daphne's velvet choker curled in her palm. Her other hand flew to her throat on instinct.

Amber came back into the hall, tapping a slippered foot. "Sofia! Haven't you heard me calling?"

Her blue eyes flew to Cedric, pleading. What could she say? How could she explain? Certainly not with Amber as an audience.

He dropped his voice into a silken growl low enough for only her to hear. "Tonight, after dinner, my tower. I look forward to hearing your … _explanation_."

He turned then and strode purposefully away, leaving Sofia where she stood, trembling, trying to recall how to breath.

* * *

Author's Note: Singing *somebody's in trouble*.

Reviews please.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Life got busy.

* * *

Revelry: Chapter Eight

* * *

" _You have a light in you that's almost blinding. But in me there's only darkness. Sometimes I think it's like the darkness that infected you that night in the inn when you began to cry and to tremble. You were so helpless, so unprepared for it. I try to keep the darkness from you because I need your light. I need it desperately, but you don't need the darkness."_

-from The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice

* * *

Sofia made it through the afternoon's entertainments of croquette and lemonade, nearly chewing her bottom lip to ribbons all throughout. If any of the other princesses noticed her distracted state, they didn't deign to comment on it.

She cringed her way through dinner, compunctiously avoiding her mother's worried, all-too-knowing glances. Blessedly, James and their father dominated the conversation, continuing a long-simmering debate between the merits of traditional gunpowder versus new steam-powered cannons.

She stammered her way through Violet's light conversation as the maid drew an evening bath and laid out a fresh nightgown. She lounged in the water, lingering until the bath turned cold and her fingers pruned.

As she dressed for bed, letting Violet comb the tangles from her damp hair, the appointed hour loomed, and still she had no idea what to say to Cedric.

When the maid bid her good-night, easing out the door, Sofia forced herself to wait at least three torturous minutes before pushing the covers back, setting her bare feet quietly on the floor. She felt like a thief in her own room, tiptoeing to the closet for a suitable dress to pull on over her shift. She settled on a loose, high-waisted gown, one that required little assistance to secure with no cumbersome underpinnings.

She tried not to think, emptying her mind of any possible implications of stealing to a man's quarters in the dark of night. Her slippered footfalls echoed softly through the empty hall, making her feel even more like a criminal, like one approaching the gallows.

Cedric's dark, hard eyes loomed before her memory, showing the impassible demeanor of her judge, jury, and executioner. What plausible explanation could she offer that would appease such cool indifference plastered over with brittle civility? Despite her impassioned defense at the party, upholding the virtues of passion for its own sake without deeper, emotional foundations, she felt the same excuses wouldn't appease him. The easy answers were there for her to grasp and hide behind: the inhibition lowering effects of too much drink, the earthy, sensual allure of Beltane, and the sexually charged nature of the Revelry's debauchery. She'd been taken in by it all, her head turned—

All that might due to excuse how Sofia-as-Daphne ended up tied to a bed, but none of it excused that first pivotal moment when she _chose_ not to leave when he showed her the way to the door. Nor the next when she _chose_ to sit down and share a drink. Nor the next when she _chose_ to tell her first lie, giving a false name, letting him believe himself in the company of an uncomplicated stranger.

He was right; lies did not become her. So why had she, an unaccomplished liar, found so easy a time fooling her best and dearest friend? The question had distracted, bothered, even plagued her all through the day, picking away the thin veneer of her flimsy excuses and moral equivocations. The answer remained elusive, slipping from her grasp every time she thought she had formed an adequate argument in her own defense. Now, with the moment of her trial drawing near, everything she might have come up with paled, shrinking from the thought of Cedric's elusive, unwavering gaze when he'd pinned her to the spot with the truth, stripping away all her lies. The memory followed her all the way down the hall, like a phantom caress raising the hairs along her arms and the back of her neck. It stirred something in her sluggish conscience as she picked up her skirts and made the final, long, twisting walk up the tower stairs.

Standing before the heavy, silent judgement of his door, her denials crumbled. She was a poor liar, even to herself. She'd made herself believe that there was nothing between them but one night. That she wanted nothing more from him than to fulfill a fantasy. Simply scratching an itch. That she had walked away at dawn with only fond memories and a wild story that no one who knew her would ever believe. Pleasure without purpose. Their enjoyment of each other purely physical and nothing more.

 _The most dangerous lies are the ones you tell yourself_ , she thought, realizing with a damning finality that there was no explanation that would suffice; only the truth would do. But she wasn't sure she was strong enough to admit it to herself, let alone him.

Wanting nothing so much as to turn and flee, she raised her hand instead. Nothing in her life had taken as much courage as it did to knock on his door, disturbing the settled silence. The thick stones and heavy wood absorbed the sound, sucking it back into the void.

The silence stretched on.

Sofia wrung her hands together, her nerved twisted similarly tight. With a last burst of bravery, she pressed the handle, peering cautiously around the door's edge. The workshop sat in darkness forcing her apprehension to the breaking point as she tiptoed inside. There was no one about, no Cedric, not even Wormwood. The window was open, moonlight and a light spring breeze easing through the casement.

She glanced around helplessly. His instructions had been brief and clear as crystal: _"Tonight, after dinner, my tower. I look forwards to hearing your …explanation."_ There was little, if any, room for misinterpretation.

The barest glimmer of light flickered through the drawn-back curtains of a stone archway. In all her years, she'd rarely stopped to contemplate where it led, deeming it too private to inquire about. Now, she peered inside, finding a narrow corridor that curved away, leaving its end shrouded in mystery. She stepped cautiously inside, keeping one hand touching the wall, as if afraid she'd somehow lose her way. The candlelight brightened with each step until a doorway presented itself. The incongruent glow in the surrounding darkness coaxed her onward, drawing her through the door.

She looked around, recognizing at once the cozy intimacy of a well-tended bedroom. Finding herself so suddenly and unexpectedly surrounded by the personal details of Cedric's private domain, she was too entranced to feel embarrassment. From a dresser beside the bed, she picked up a quaintly carved wooden bird, smiling softly at what was obviously a well-loved keepsake from childhood. She touched the smooth surface gently, examining the little figure, recognizing in the exquisitely fine craftsmanship the details of a raven.

The door banged shut behind her, making her jump and shriek together. Her hands clutched the little raven tight to her chest as she whirled around to find Cedric standing against the wall. Gulping, she fumbled to replace the knickknack as she'd found it.

"C-Cedric," she greeted, knotting her hands behind her back like a scolded child.

"Why, Princess Sofia," he positively purred, "you've been quite the naughty girl."

* * *

He heard her approaching long before he saw her. He wasn't hiding, exactly, just resting with his back against the wall, behind the door. Maybe he was hiding, a little, but after the blow Wormwood's revelation dealt him that morning, he felt he deserved every advantage of surprise over the impudent princess.

That, and he had not a fucking clue what he meant to say to Sofia once she arrived.

There was much he _could_ say on her willful deception at the Revelry. He could wax on for hours, much to Wormwood's chagrin, positing theory upon theory as to why he thought she'd done it. But he didn't want to theorize. He wanted to _know_. The question had plagued him all day, slithering in and out of the inevitable memories of Daphne's pale skin and panting moans. As the long day wore on, it became vitally important to him that the question be answered by her own lips: _Why?_

When Wormwood told him, he'd found it difficult to believe. He went about questioning the raven for some long moments afterward, unable to grasp what Wormwood's animal senses told him in an instant, that delicious Daphne and sweet Sofia were one in the same. But she'd known his identity from the start. He hadn't been disguised like any common reveler. She'd known, from minute one, though every half-truth and bald-faced lie, she'd known who she was deceiving. Known who she was enticing. Who she was seducing.

He'd tied her to a gods damned bed, for fuck's sake. And she'd let him.

 _Persephone's Pomegranates_ , the very memory made him ache, sending phantom tingles of pleasure shooting straight between his hips. The scent of lavender, her signature, hit him a moment before the woman herself stepped inside the room. She looked about, shyly intrigued, not noticing him hidden in the shadows. Her auburn hair hung in soft waves down her back, carrying in them the damp fragrance of a recent bath. He suppressed a groan, imaging her skin pink with steam, adorned in nothing but crystal droplets. He hadn't lied about her hair, he much preferred its natural luster to the enchanted glimmer of her tight platinum curls. His hand itched to bury themselves in that heavy mass, to pluck a stray strand from her pouting lips, to comb it back off her flushed face, watching as those lips parted, stretching, enveloping his throbbing—

He cut the thought off, trying to will away his treacherous erection. He hadn't asked her here for that. Really, he hadn't. At night. Forcing a meeting in his bedroom. Fuck.

Lust he could curtail, he had plenty of practice there with regards to her, but when she picked up the little wooden raven, a feeling more dangerous than lust curled warmly in his belly. His mother's father, a great wizard who saw great potential in his grandson, had carved that toy with his own hands, choosing skill over magic. He'd given it to Cedric on the same day he taught him his first spell, the one that gave him Wormwood. To watch Sofia handle it with such tender care, instinctively recognizing a treasure when she saw one, measured by value beyond gold, felt like the most carefully tender caress across his heart.

Then the memory of Daphne gathering her clothes, sneaking away under the cover of dark abruptly swept aside any sentimentality. He called forth the afternoon, remembering Sofia lying straight to his face without compunction. The warmth in his stomach soured, curdling to stony resolve. He pushed the door away, slamming it shut to reveal his presence. Sofia shrieked and spun, clutching the toy to her chest. Her wide blue eyes flew at once to his figure, taking him in with a nervous little gulp before she hastened to replace that which she had no right to touch.

"C-Cedric," she stuttered.

"Why, Princess Sofia," he murmured, his voice smokier than he intended. He folded his arms across his chest, "you have been quite the naughty girl."

He expected her to flush. He expected her to puff up and pronounce that she was not a child, just as she always did whenever he so much as hinted that he saw her that way. What he did not expect was for her lips to part, eyes going large and luminous with the unmistakable glitter of desire.

 _She'd known_ , a voice whispered from the back of his mind, dancing the truth before his eyes like a cavorting fairy mob. _She known it was him the whole time, so why? Why?_

"I believe," he lowered his eyelids, looking down his nose at her, trying for an aloof air, "you have an explanation to deliver."

She dropped her head, the heavy sweep of her hair shielding him from her eyes. All the better, he couldn't think with those damn eyes, blue as the ocean, blue as the stars at night, staring at him.

"I have none," she whispered, so soft he almost missed it.

His right brow rose of its own accord. "Excuse me?"

She lifted her head, shook her hair back and met him square in the eye. Damn her. "I have no explanation. No excuse. Nothing that would suffice anyway."

The impertinent little chit. Did she honestly think she could stand there like a contrite child, not even offering a proper apology, and think that he'd, what, let her off with a warning? His teeth ground together. "Try me."

Her gaze dropped again. "How did you know it was me?"

"Wormwood."

"Wormwood?" Her brow furrowed before she sighed. "My scent. Wormwood could smell me on you."

"Indeed. He assured me your identity was quite … _unmistakable_."

Her cheeks flushed, the telling mark of innocent embarrassment wreaking havoc on his insides. She managed an incredulous laugh. "I honestly never considered Wormwood."

"Yes, I imagine him ousting you was not part of your plan."

"Plan?" Her lips twisted on a wry smile. "There was no plan. I didn't come to the Revelry looking for you. I didn't even know that you'd be there. Some of what I told you was true. I went at the request of a friend. When I left her and her date alone, I did get lost. I did stumble into the ballroom trying to escape some pawing lecher dressed like a satyr. The things I saw in there were … shocking. I panicked. I wanted nothing more than to find the exit, to run back home, but …"

"But?"

"When I saw you, heard your voice, saw your face, I was so relieved, even if the circumstances were unconventional. You didn't recognize me, and— and there was a power in that. I know you weren't interested at first, that I forced the issue, but when you finally took note of me, when you finally saw me … you looked at Daphne unlike I've ever seen you look at me."

She broke off, sighing. Her empty hands raised helplessly, as if these words were all she had to offer. "You weren't ever supposed to know. That is the only explanation I can offer. You weren't ever to know it was me."

Cedric felt his heart harden to ice and crack in the same instant. She wished for anonymity, that he never know the truth. Two strangers, fucking in the dark to hide their deeds, destined to part ways come the morning and never speak again. He had plenty of experience with those kinds of encounters in the past, enough to know that last night had not been that for him. Daphne had stirred in him a rare longing, and even rarer hope. He'd wanted Daphne to be Sofia. Hopelessly longed for the bittersweet fantasy that somehow they could be one in the same. Having it prove true, then having the real woman standing before him describing their night together in such uncompromising terms stripped him to the bone.

"Yes," he drawled, defensive anger taking over his better reason, "I suppose as a princess it's all well and good to take off your tiara and go slumming on Beltane. Wouldn't want your spotless reputation stained by something so inconvenient as the truth."

"What? But, that's not—"

"I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose," he interrupted, wanting to hear her truth even less than any further lies, "I did say that Beltane was a day for fucking and nothing more. But, I must say, when I spoke of those that hid their faces and their deeds on Beltane, of those _hypocrites_ ," he spat the word, "who pretend their desires don't exist the rest of the year, I did not expect to count you among them, _Sofia_."

His tongue caressed her name in a way that made her shiver and draw away.

"So, tell me, Princess," he sneered, "how did I rate? Did I fulfill your desire for darkness? I'm truly riveted to know. Was it everything you imagined, lowering yourself to my level? Too bad a little thing like the truth and to go and spoil your fantasy. Too bad I had to know. But since I do, please indulge my curiosity." He took a step forward, eyes a blaze with anger. "Was I serviceable fuck for your tastes?"

Sofia pressed herself back against the dresser, eyes wild with palpable alarm. "I-," she stammered, grasping, "I-"

"You what?" he snarled, her outward appearance of bewildered innocence infuriating him further.

"I'm sorry," she blurted. "I didn't— I wasn't— I didn't mean—" A single tear dropped off her lashes, slithering down her cheek, surprising him with its forlorn grace. "The truth is, I didn't do it because it was Beltane, or because I'd had too much to drink. It had nothing to do with sabbaths or fertility rituals or even debauched parties. It had everything to do with opportunity. I did it because I could. Because I wanted _you_."

He stood, quietly stunned by the depths of her confession, her shame and guilt evident. His anger cooled, doused by the deluge of that solitary tear. She pressed her eyes closed, unable to look at him as she went on, pouring out the truth.

"I wanted you. And I thought … I thought if all I could ever have of you was some anonymous physical fling, then I could content myself with that. But I can't. I can't—" She sucked in a shuttering breath, leaving the thought unfinished. "I thought if you never knew, then I'd never have to endure you looking at me the way you are now. It's so much worse than I imagined, knowing how you must hate me. I know you'll never f-feel for me the way I feel for you. That is the real explanation, that I wanted so much more of you than I have any right to, and the temptation of having you was too much to ignore."

She fell into silence and he blinked in bewilderment.

She wanted _him_?

She _wanted_ him.

She'd come to him willingly, looking to fulfill a fantasy much darker and deeper than he suspected. She'd believed the Revelry her only chance, the only time he would ever consider indulging her. If anyone knew the torment of coveting that which didn't belong to you, it was him. He'd never attributed the same, selfish desires to Sofia, believing her too pure, too pristine of soul. He'd cast her as a saint, never allowing her the dignity of human weakness. Her quiet shame, admitting her opportunistic motives, proved her more fragile than he suspected, and somehow infinitely sweeter to him.

As she stood there, valiantly holding back tears, he could no longer take it. His icy facade shattered, melting away to reveal the undercurrent of omnipresent heat that always simmered through his veins with her around. This time he didn't hide it, letting it rise to the surface as he came towards her.

* * *

Sofia kept her eyes closed, trying to breathe around the pulse racing in her throat. She held herself as still as possible to control the trembling of her whole body. Here was surely when he'd demand that she leave and never darken his sight again. Here was when he'd spurn her paltry confession, laughing at her foolish, childish fantasies. Or worse, here was when he would soften, attempting with bumbling words to let her down gently, making it clear that he never had and never would think on her as a sexual being.

She heard his steps coming across the floor, towards her. Her eyes flew open. Cedric stood before her, his honeyed eyes simmering with an emotion stronger than anger but no less dangerous. He reached for her, and she was powerless to move away. His hand cupped her nape, weaving his fingers between her silky locks with a tenderness beyond even that which he'd shown poor, nervous Daphne. There was an intent in his gaze that made her shiver.

"P-please, Cedric," she stuttered, her pulse nearing panic, "I know what we did just last night, what I initiated, but, I don't think … Knowing it wouldn't mean to you what it means to me, I don't think I could stand it."

He paid her protests no mind, dipping his head with a single-minded purpose and laid one burning kiss to the side of her throat. She sighed, immediately losing the battle with her conscience. He could have her anyway he wanted, and she'd regret it all over again tomorrow, but it felt of little consequence just now with his lips whispering over her pulse.

"Where did you tell me you were going to be?" he murmured across her skin, pressing another kiss to the sensitive spot just where her neck and shoulder met.

"Wh-," she blinked, finding it very hard to focus, "what?"

"Yesterday, where did you tell me you'd be on Beltane night?"

"Um?" She shuttered, desire rolling through her in exquisite waves. She tried to recall their discussion in the village yesterday. _Yesterday?_ It felt like a thousand years ago. "With Lucinda, and I was with Lucinda, she was the friend I went to the Revelry with, but, but, I said I'd be with her and her coven."

It was hard to speak. Hard to think. His fingertips caressed her nape, thumb soothing over her thumping pulse, while he kissed her neck long and slow. His other hand cupped the dip of her waist, massaging close to her spine. Gods, she was going to die. He was going to kill her, slowly, with exquisite pleasure. Her eyes fluttered closed on a low, throaty moan.

"And are witches," he said the word with an ironic twist in his tone. Sofia knew he didn't care for them on a general front, "known for their discretion? Or decorum, particularly on the sabbaths?"

"I don't know what you mean?" His hand smoothed up her spine. Her chest rose and fell in a rapid pant. She was melting like wax touched with flame. "They aren't as stuffy about- about sexuality, if that's what you mean."

"Indeed," he murmured, moving to caressing her clavicle with his lips. She tipped her head back obligingly, unconsciously pressing her breasts against his chest. "So, what can you infer then, given that you told me you would be spending Beltane in the company of a group of lascivious witches?"

"That you have a prejudice against witches?" she giggled, feeling slightly delirious.

"Point taken." He raised his head, gazing at her with hooded eyes. "What else?"

Sofia blinked, trying to remember what they'd been discussing. Right, Beltane, where she was _supposed_ to have been. Slowly, working the words out one by one, she tried to formulate the answer he was looking for, "You would have thought that I was doing what everyone does on Beltane? That I was …"

She trailed off, flushing. She'd been so caught up in her persona as Daphne and her own duplicity, she'd never stopped to spare a thought for where Cedric believed _Sofia_ to be last night. Her lips parted on gasp. "You would have thought I was with someone else. With another man."

His eyes watched her with a certain weight, as if willing her to understand. She followed the improbable train of thought. "You thought I was with someone else and last night you said," even as she said it, she shook her head unwilling to believe, "you said you were there to forget a woman. You implied that she was also out on Beltane, engaging in the holiday. But, but …"

His lips hovered over hers and she looked into his golden hazel eyes, her own wide and frightened. "Yes," he whispered, as if to answer some question she hadn't asked.

She froze, too uncertain to move, to hope.

His lips brushed hers.

"Yes," he murmured again, before fitting their mouths together in a kiss of the sweetest communion yet.

Sofia parted her lips, perhaps to offer a protest, she wasn't certain, because his tongue swept past her lips in a hot, slow caress and her doubts fell away. _Her_. Cedric wanted _her_. He'd been trying to forget _her_. She'd inadvertently sent him to the Revelry, into the distraction of Daphne's arms.

When he eased back, his breath fanned over her lips warm and harsh. "I truly went intending to get blisteringly drunk so I could stagger home and fall into an unconsciousness so black I wouldn't dream of you moaning on the grass in the arms of some village lad. I wouldn't have looked twice at Daphne, except she had the most mesmerizing blue eyes, and the sweetest disposition. Although, I can't say I much cared for her hair."

He wove his hands through her wavy locks, tingling along her scalp as he drew her head back, bearing her neck. Sofia sighed when he laid more kisses to the front of her throat. Her fingers twisted into his clothing, trying to draw him closer.

"You—," he growled, the sudden roughness of his voice making her stiffen with unexpected fear. His shoulder shook and she realized he was _laughing_ at her. "You let me tie you to a bed."

She giggled, relief making her a bit hysterical as well. "I did, didn't I?"

"I thought for sure—"

"You thought for sure that _I_ would never agree to such a thing." Her cheeks reddened beneath her lowered lashes. "It's always been a fantasy of mine as well."

He looked at her, incredulously. "To be tied to a bed?"

"To be tied to a bed _by you_. Among other things."

That impertinent brow rose again making her low stomach tighten. "Other things? I never expected such deviance from you, Princess. Daphne was quite the shocking deception. I should be furious with you."

She bit her lip, hoping he wasn't. "I suppose."

"You suppose?" His voice dropped, heavy and dark. "You know damn well what you did was wrong."

"I am sorry, for deceiving you. I just thought you'd never— That if you knew it was me—"

"Oh no you don't, you little liar." Her eyes flew up, startled, but a playful smirk halted any hurt at his words. Still, she waited, wary of what he intended for her. "An apology isn't nearly good enough. As I see it, you are guilty of so many transgressions, not least of all taking shocking advantage of my person in an inebriated state, not to mention some truly outrageous dishonestly."

"W-what is it you wish me to do about it?"

He pursed his lips, seeming to consider. "So much to atone for, I should hold this over your head for months. But, I believe I have a better idea."

"Which is?" she asked uncertainly.

He leaned in, making her pulse rocket. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, tugging her closer, right against his chest. The heat in her veins made her dizzy with desire. "We will consider the matter settled, here and now, if …"

"If?" she breathed, hardly able to speak.

His breath whispered hotly across her ear. "If … you let me punish you as I see fit."

Her knees loosened, and if he hadn't had such a strong hold on her she would have stumbled. "W-what kind of punishment?"

The laugh that kicked through his diaphragm jerked his hips against hers and she felt the hard line of his erection pressing into her belly. "Oh, no, I'm not telling you. You didn't tell me who you were, so I'm not telling you this."

"But," she asked carefully, perhaps, hopefully, "it does involve, um, sex?"

He lowered his head, running his lips along her throat in a slow caress. She shivered, her breasts tightening. "It does," he drawled slowly, before his teeth closed over her pulse, biting gently, sucking. His hips pressed against her, enough to draw forth her own desire. "So, do you accept my offer?"

She nodded at once, mindless, desperate. She'd do anything so long as he kept touching her. "Yes. Yes."

"Good," he purred, just before he pushed away, leaving her swaying and dazed. "You didn't bring that ribbon with you, by any chance?"

She reached into her pocket, drawing forth the length of Daphne's velvet choker, bemused. Cedric plucked it from her palm. Picking his wand off the bedside table, with a wave and a murmur the ribbon unfurled, longer than before. He tested its new length, nodding with approval.

His eyes found hers, a devious light glittering in their golden depths. "Now, take off your clothes and get on the bed."

* * *

Author's Note: I think we all know what's coming in the next chapter. I'll do my best to get it out to you quickly.

Reviews, please!


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Again, apologies for the delay. This chapter was written, but it just didn't feel complete. Had to let it simmer for a while until I found the groove I was looking for.

* * *

Revelry: Chapter Nine

* * *

" _Just love me and fear me," he told her in a gentle voice, "and do as I say, and I will be your slave."_

-from Labyrinth: The Novelization by A.C.H. Smith

* * *

Sofia swayed on her feet, made lightheaded by the smoky note in his voice. She trembled, wanting to believe that all her sins could be absolved by surrendering herself entirely to his skilled hands, but a flutter in her belly made her hesitate. Her came out small, and terribly unlike herself, but she had to ask, "You're not angry with me, are you?"

"No," he said gently, making her look up with renewed hope, "I am not angry with you. Your audacity gave us what we both wanted, though your methods were questionable. And as such," he cupped her chin, sweeping the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, "make no mistake, I intend to make you pay for your transgressions, my sweet."

Sofia made a sound in her throat, something close to a whimper. His thumb brushed across the petal-like softness of her lip, sending a remarkably audacious idea flashing through her mind. Her tongue flicked out across the end of his finger, making him draw in a sharp breath. Emboldened, Sofia parted her lips, sucking his thumb into her mouth. Her tongue swirled across the tip in a suggestive caress, reminiscent of how she'd taken another part of him into her mouth only last night.

Cedric groaned, eyes going unfocused.

He was on her in an instant, pulling his finger from the luscious temptation of her mouth so he could drag her into a fierce kiss. The greedy pressure of his tongue slipped through her parted lips as he tugged insistently at her dress.

"Off," he growled between kisses, "this needs to come off. Now."

Sofia giggled recklessly, reaching behind to undo her lacings. It was hard to focus with his lips on hers, his hands caressing over her clothed body. Without the intervention of a corset she could feel everything, the fine fabric of her shift adding a silky friction that left her panting. Her dress fell open and she pushed it down to the floor.

For a dizzying moment the room spun and she found herself rolled beneath him on the bed. Her legs splayed around his leans hips and she felt the warmth of his hand stealing up the interior of her thigh. An appreciative glint lit his eyes when his fingertips encountered the unobstructed softness of her curls. "No undergarments, my princess? How presumptuous of you."

 _My princess_ , by all the gods, she nearly melted. "I didn't presume anything. I was simply ready for bed and forgot them in my haste to get here."

"Hmm," he hummed, obviously not believing a word.

He pushed the thin fabric higher and higher, exposing her slowly, until finally tugging it over head and away. Her fingers itched to undress him as well, but when she reached for his buttons, he pinned her wrists to the bed.

"Not yet. This is supposed to be your punishment, remember?"

The shiver that threaded through her rocked her down to her toes.

His smile widened, leaned down close enough that his worn green shirt brushed across the aching peaks of her breasts. "You do like that, don't you? I suppose it only makes sense as you've always been praised for your unfailing goodness. Feels nice, doesn't it princess, being taken off your pedestal?"

"I suppose it does," she murmured, lowering her lashes. He dropped his head to nuzzle her ear, sending her pulse into an uneven flutter. "So, it's alright then?"

He nibbled the sensitive ridge of her lobe, pulling a latent shiver through her that ended low in her belly. "Is what alright?"

"That I find all this so … arousing? That doesn't make me weird? Or depraved?"

He stopped his distracting ministrations, pulling back to look down on her from his superior position. A cheeky smirk slashed across his lips. "My dear, I believe you are asking the wrong person. Wasn't it just last night that I told you it was my fantasy to tie you to a bed?

"Besides," he purred, plucking the ribbon off the floor before looping it around the center slate of the headboard. He kept speaking as he tied each of her wrists carefully, "how can it be depraved if it's what we want? What we both enjoy? This is what you want, isn't it?"

"Yes," she breathed, her arousal spiking distinctly at being restrained again. She gazed up, eyes glazed with desire as she waited his next delicious touch. But he didn't touch her. With her secured to his bed, he raised a hand. With a wave all the candles flared to life, painting the room bright.

"Cedric!" she squealed in protest, trying flutily to twist away from his sight.

"Forgive me if I enjoy looking at you," he drawled, sounding not the least contrite.

"Please, I don't …"

"What?" he asked, a little incredulous. "Don't you find yourself beautiful?"

"I've been told so," she answered uncertainly, desperately wishing she could cover herself, "but, not particularly, no."

A frown drew a crease between his brows, making him appear at once confused and more than a little disturbed by her declaration. "I didn't lie to Daphne— to you, last night when I said I found you beautiful. Though I much prefer you as yourself."

She nibbled on her lips, unable to meet his eye. "I thought that was just … empty flattery. Something men say to any woman they wish to bed."

"Do I look like a man inclined to offer empty flattery? If I say I find you beautiful, it's because I mean it." The smoky note in his voice deepened, making her throb and ache in more places than one. "Perhaps I shall just have to prove my sincerity to you then."

His hand traced a long lock of hair where it lay across her shoulder and down her chest. The back of his knuckles brushed gently over the pebbled peak of one breast. She gasped, arching. His eyes swept over her, darkened to amber honey as he took in the entire length of her nude body. This heavy-lidded gaze did wonders to banish her protests. With the way he was looking at her, she felt like the most enchanting creature in all the realms.

He climbed back to the bed, once again spreading her open with gentle but insistent hands. For a moment he merely gazed at her, drawing a tension through the room as she waited, breathing shallow. Then, with painstaking patience, he began to explore. His hands wandered lazily across her skin, divesting light touches and coaxing strokes over every delicate hollow and lush swell of her body. Tremors of anticipation shivered through her core, because as much as he touched her, except for that one heated brush across her breast, he sternly ignored the parts of her that ached for his attentions the most. Instead, he focused his consideration everywhere else— the sensitive underside of her arms, the ticklish ridges of her ribs, the soft swell of her belly. His hands encompassed the lush roundness of her hips before pivoting underneath to tease down the backs of her thighs.

As he knelt between her splayed feet, Cedric lifted one leg, massaging lightly down the milky swell of her calf. He laid a dainty kiss to the top of her foot, fingers encircling her ankle. Sofia allowed herself to drift, entranced by his delicate care. Her eyes had fallen closed, but when he wiggled his fingers against the arch of her instep they flew open again. She squealed, trying to jerk her leg back, but he held on firmly.

"Stop," she whimpered. He merely favored her with a devious smile and tickled her foot again.

She shrieked and twisted, gasping for breath. "Damn you, Cedric."

He raised one brow, pausing in his torment. "Excuse me? Such language, Princess. Is that anyway to speak to your—"

"Elders?" she supplied sweetly.

"Oh, you little—" he couldn't seem to form an insult adequate to encompass her impertinence, so instead he set about tickling her arch in earnest.

Sofia jerked against the ribbon. "Stop! Stop! I'm—" she shrieked at a particularly intrusive dig of his fingers. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Damn right you are," he smirked, caressing her sensitive foot more gently.

She watched, wide-eyed as he kissed her instep, before parting his lips, swirling his tongue in a caress that she had not thought would affect her so. She moaned with surprised pleasure. Leaving her beleaguered foot with a nip of his teeth, he set about slowly kissing his way up the inside of her leg. Sofia panted as her drew nearer to the apex of her thighs, going slower the higher he came. She throbbed for him, trying to wriggle her hips further down as if she could command that he touch her there. Just when she thought he'd finally lay his lips against her aching core, he skirted around to her belly, making her groan in dismay. He did the same to her abdomen, setting a line of slow, deliberate kisses that skirted close to her tingling breasts but denied them the satisfaction of his touch.

She twisted her wrists, straining. "Please, Cedric."

He licked a long, wet line along the furrow of her collarbone. "I do so enjoy your begging," he murmured.

His tongue teased her neck, hot breath tickling the sensitive whorl of her ear. She pushed her face into the crook of her arm, whining. His fingers coaxed downward, nearing the juncture of her thighs again. She held her breath, silently praying that this time he would touch her. When the pad of his fingertips sifted through her curls, the feather soft caress left her dizzy and gasping for more.

When he finally sank one long slender finger into the heated heart of her sex, her eyes rolled back on a throaty moan.

"Oh," she whimpered, writhing against his fingers, "yes."

His fingers worked their skillful magic, plundering her eager flesh until her tremors deepened to full-body shutters. As her cries rose to a crescendo, he pulled away just before she could crest the final wave. She wavered on the edge, dismayed to be denied. "Wha—?"

"Have you not figured it out yet?" He shifted down her body, pushing her legs wide around his shoulders. His tongue flickered out against her swollen clit in a quick caress that made her hiss, but it was gone before she could latch onto the sensation. "This is your punishment for deceiving me."

She craned her neck up, looking down the naked line of her body to where he grinned at her from between her legs. The pleasure inside her simmered, fizzling with frustration. As she watched, he lowered his head, teasing his tongue between her folds, dipping inside her channel and probing until she lifted her hips, moaning. When he pulled back again, a tiny scream pushed out between her teeth.

"You're not going to come until I want you to. I'm going to keep you here, teetering on the edge, but not giving you what you need to reach completion." Here he kissed her clit again, drawing the swollen nub between his lips and sucking it out on a long draw. "You'll not come until I'm ready to have you."

She whimpered, realizing the cruelty of his punishment. But then, she wasn't sure how he could hold her to it. She was so primed, it would take little more than the right touch to set her off. She couldn't help the small grin that lifted the corner of her mouth. He thought he was so clever.

"I see you think you've found a loophole," he said, bringing his hand down, snaking a finger inside her again. He worked her slowly, gliding in and out in a smooth, steady rhythm. Her hips moved in time, needing just a little more. "You see, you're not going to come until I tell you to," he pressed a second finger in, working minutely faster, driving her closer the edge he claimed to want to deny her, "because if you do," he licked her clit again, "come before you're told …" She tensed, trying not to make any noise to alert him to how close she was to thwarting his plan. Her ecstasy came abruptly derailed when he finished with, "I won't fuck you at all."

He pulled his fingers out and she wailed at the loss of their sensation. She'd been so close. Wait, what had he said? He was grinning at her in triumph and she realized his meaning. Her punishment was her own to enforce, if she wanted him inside her, she'd have to deny herself until then.

She glared through narrowed eyes. "Oh, that's just evil."

His smile only widened, wickedly curled at the corners. "So, you have a choice, my sweet princess. You can come now, while I lick this delicious clit of yours. A _hollow_ victory, I imagine." And Sofia understood he wouldn't be putting his fingers inside her again. "Or you can take your punishment like a good girl and wait to come with my cock inside you."

Sofia baulked, but he didn't give her time to contemplate the options. He laid his mouth against her directly, no longer taunting her with coy touches. He lapped at her urgently, rippling wet heat through her core. All his teasing before had been nothing compared to this true revenge. The insistent pressure of his tongue called her body to respond. It was so much worse than when he'd withheld pleasure from her; now she fought against the tempting sensations, trying not to tumble over the edge. Moaning in distress, she jerked at her bonds as her hips tried to pull up and away from him. Too much. It was too much. But Cedric merely wrapped his forearms around her thighs, holding her tight to his relentless mouth.

"Please, Cedric," she gasped, "Stop, I can't—"

He pulled off her at once, his eyes glittering, breath coming hard.

"Please," she whimpered, "Please, please. _I need you_."

Apparently, she'd found the words he couldn't deny. With a growl he climbed up her body, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. He tore off the remainder of his clothing, tugging his shirt overhead before unbuckling his pants to kick them away. Quickly, he snatched up his wand, murmuring the necessary spell over her abdomen before tossing it aside. Their naked hips nestled tightly together and his hands went to hers, interlacing their fingers as he pinned her to the bed. As he pressed slowly inside, making her feel every bit of his hard, unrelenting heat, his gaze trapped hers and she couldn't look away. While he slowly stretched her open, she began to shake.

"Oh gods, I can't—" Her hips thrust upwards, entreating him for more. "Cedric, please, I can't help it. I'm—"

She broke off abruptly, trembling all over. His hips rolled into hers. "It's alright," he breathed in a ragged edged voice, "Go ahead and come for me, my darling.

It was the endearments that pushed her over— _my sweet, my princess, my darling_ —

 _His_ , she was all his.

The orgasm that rocked through her had her screaming out, eyes shut fast, fingers clenching his own so tight she thought she might hurt him. He held himself still, but her hips undulated of their own accord, pressing up, pushing him deeper into her wet heat.

"Fucking— Gods— _Yes_ ," he hissed, his own back arching.

Sofia spiraled, a thousand glittering shards of ecstasy sparking through her whole body as she luxuriated in the dark rapture of being intimately joined with him. Just as her shattered thoughts started to piece themselves together, he began to move. She strained against his unforgiving hold, basking in the feel of him on top of her, inside of her, his mastery absolute. His fullness stretched her tightly open, offering no quarter from how completely he possessed her.

His slow, measured movements tugged her into an inexorable dance, one she joined eagerly, her hips aching restlessly up towards his. They rocked against each other like a powerful tide drawn by the will of the moon, ruled by forces older and darker than time itself. Cedric had been right, there was nothing polite or civilized about these rites. But nor could she dismiss the gently urgent press of his hips as a distant, unemotional _fucking_. May the gods help her, even if she was only lying to herself, but with every deep undulation of his body into hers, she felt _loved_.

Molten bliss poured through her veins, heightened when he lowered his head and took the tip of one pouting nipple between his lips. He suckled her with a fierce hunger, each lazy flick of his tongue echoing through her convulsing core. Her head lolled back against the pillows as she called out his name on a broken moan, " _Cedric_ —

His tightly restrained control broke then, driving into her recklessly. His mouth covered her in a ravening kiss that stole the air from her lungs, and Sofia struggled to match his fervor. He kissed her like she was all the sweetness he would ever need, as if she was the only taste of heaven he would ever know. Stars trailed behind her eyelids and she lost awareness of everything except the feel of him and her and the dark demand of his loving.

He tore one hand away from hers, palming her breast to roll a tightened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Sofia could feel each tweak like a tiny lick of flame, feeding the inferno rising in her core. Her high whine bespoke her distress as she pulled hard against the ribbon, wanting her hands on him, to _feel_ all of him.

With a growled word from Cedric's lips, she was set free. He gathered her against her, urging her arms around his shoulders to hold on. She did, moaning senselessly as he kissed her, wrapping her in a strong embrace. His long, deep strokes ravished her flesh with ruthless waves of ecstasy.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he babbled into her ear, losing all control. "You have no idea how often I've imagined making you come just like this."

Her nails scrabbled against the low dip of his back, feeling the powerful thrusting of his hips beneath her hands. She crested the pinnacle, lost to everything except the soaring heights of pleasure he'd pushed her to and the dizzying fall as she crashed over. "Cedric—"

"Oh, my sweet Sofia," he groaned, just before his own body surrendered to the incomparable bliss of her tightly stroking sheath. He went rigid, shuddering with the same rapture as his seed surged warmly into the welcoming convulsions of her womb.

Sofia trembled, trapped beneath the pleasing heat of Cedric's body as he collapsed over top of her. The pulsing warmth of his length still buried within lent latent ripples of drowsy pleasure quivering through her. With her hands free, she couldn't deny herself the silky luxury of his hair, running greedy fingertips along his scalp as he fought to regain his breathing. She hoped he didn't find her too intrusive, but this unguarded moment might be her only chance to show him the affection that lay just beneath the surface of her desire.

As the heat of their coupling evaporated from her skin, leaving her shaken, doubts began to creep their way back into her mind. Cedric had expressed a mutual desire for her, but they'd said nothing of any deeper feelings.

He groaned against her breast, seeming content to stay just as he was. With a sigh, he pushed himself up onto his arms, looking not at her face, but the red marks that encircled her wrists. He picked one up, rubbing the pad of his thumb gently across the fading welts.

"Cedric?" He lifted his gaze to hers and she knew her heart was in her eyes, plain for him to see. She swallowed, seeking some measure of composure. "So, what do we do now?"

His eyes dropped away, his thoughts going inside where she couldn't follow. She recognized that quiet, contemplative look. He moved off her, plucking his wand from the sheets to perform the necessary ablutions with that clever spell of his. She didn't know whether to draw the sheets up over her nudity or to begin gathering her clothes.

"Now," he said after a moment, pulling the rumpled blankets up to cover them both. He nestled close along her side and Sofia bit back a sigh, still unsure of his intentions. When he opened his arms, she snuggled into them, basking in the earthy delight of his naked warmth against to her own. "I don't know about you, but I am quite tired."

Tentatively, she laid her head against his chest, afraid to hope that he wanted to show her tenderness as well as passion. She managed a nod.

"So, right now, I'd like to fall asleep with you in my arms." His finger combed through her hair, his nose nuzzling against her ear. She melted against him, wondering at the hesitant note in his voice. He sounded almost a little _afraid_. "And when we wake up, if you're agreeable, I'd very much like to make love to you, slowly and thoroughly, until neither of us can walk."

Her breath caught, unable to contemplate that the depths of her affection could be returned. She'd known pleasure of his hands, but this moment was the first time he'd given her joy. Her fingertips combed through the sprinkling of hair on his chest. She dared to lay a chaste kiss over his heart, making his breath catch. "I'd say I'm more than agreeable to that."

* * *

Author's Note: D'aww, see they do love each other. One thing I wanted to address in this chapter was Cedric figuring out that Sofia was a virgin, but no matter how I tried to slip it in, it just seemed to clutter up the narrative. I'm toying with the idea of writing a small bonus chapter for Bits and Pieces about the following morning. But as for this story, there is only an epilogue left which should be up tomorrow.

Reviews, please! You guys are fabulous and I would never have believed in my writing without you!


	10. Epilogue

Author's Note: Again, apologies for the delay. I promised this epilogue yesterday, but believe me when I say it is better for the extra time. I actual scraped my original epilogue (ask , it's better this way) and wrote a new one this morning.

* * *

Revelry: Epilogue

* * *

" _I have for the first time found what I can truly love–I have found you. You are my sympathy–my better self–my good angel–I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wrap my existence about you–and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one."_

-from Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte

* * *

 _Beltane Night, Five Years Later …_

"How's that?" she asked sweetly. "Not too tight, is it?"

Cedric glowered at the silky white bows framing each of his wrists. He gave them a tug, but she'd secured him to the bed quite effectively. "How did I ever let you talk me into this?"

Sofia giggled. "Because you're a wise man and you've already seen that giving into my requests is in your best interest."

"So, I've been told," he murmured when she ran her hands down the front of his shirt, slowly slipping the buttons free. "No less than every male relative and friend of your acquaintance saw fit to threaten me with castration should I ever prove myself unworthy of your devotion. Why did no one tell me weddings were so perilous for the groom?"

"Still think we should have eloped?" She smirked, adding a devilish air to the vision she presented in her frothy white gown. An edge of a lace garter peeped out from beneath the hem where she'd hiked it up to sit on the edge of the bed.

He didn't see fit to answer, which she knew meant she was right and he refused to admit defeat. Her smirk softened to a genuine smile. "Thank you, by the way, for all this."

His raised one rakish eyebrow. "For finally letting you tie me up?"

"No," she giggled, "For our wedding day. I know all the pomp and circumstance isn't really your thing."

"Yes, well, be that as it may, I thought what with your family barely tolerating our relationship as it is, they'd never forgive me if I married you in some arcane ceremony in the woods. The king would probably set the guards on me, accusing me, _again_ , of enchanting you with some dark spell."

She laid a trail of butterfly soft kisses across his bare chest. "Haven't you though? I'd say I've been very much under your spell since our first Beltane together."

Cedric allowed his eyes to close, absorbing the fluttering, elusive pleasure of her lips on his skin. When her tongue peeked out to flick over his nipple, he groaned. He didn't garner nearly as much enjoyment there as she did when he teased her breasts, but she knew just where to touch him for maximum anticipation. His dusky gaze opened halfway when he felt her hands working at the bindings of his pants. His fingers twitched, itching to wrap around the satin dip of her corseted waist. "Every day, you only get more beautiful. How is that possible?"

A pleasant flush pinked her cheeks. "Well, I should certainly hope that you thought so today, otherwise I'd have to tell Amber that all her hard work was for nothing. It took no less than five maids to lace me into this dress, not to mention three more to do my hair and another two for my makeup."

"Five maids?" he asked, impressed despite himself. His breath caught when she freed his stiffening member from the confines of his trousers, her fingertips teasing lightly along his length. He managed to pant, "However will we get you out of it?"

"Don't even pretend you haven't mastered a spell for getting me out of my clothes with expediency. I may have picked up that trick from you, among other things."

She bent her head, taking him into her mouth and Cedric lost track of any thoughts except the warm, wet feel of being enveloped and the buttery soft slide of her clever tongue. She teased him in long, slow strokes, putting every bit of her considerable knowledge of his body to use against him. When her tongue flickered over his weeping tip, he arched his hips upward, straining against his bonds.

"I've changed my mind," he panted. "Get these bloody things off. I want to touch you."

She eased away after a last, taunting lick, sitting back to take in her handy work of his flushed face, heaving chest and slick, glistening manhood. "Not yet, _my dear_ , I've barely started paying you back for all those times you've had me at your mercy."

"I didn't hear you complaining then," he smirked.

She merely favored him with a cheeky smile, before slipping off the bed to pluck up his wand from atop their luggage. They'd barely spared a glance for their honeymoon suite at The Burgundy Rose, tossing their belongings aside before moving directly to the more pleasurable parts of their new status as husband and wife. Sofia twirled the wand, releasing a shower of golden sparkles. With a murmured phrase, her extravagant dress slipped open at the back, allowing her to shrug it off with considerably more ease than she'd been trussed into it hours before. Seeing her decked in a white satin corset, matching bloomers and stockings, Cedric drank the sight of his new wife, cursing every deity in creation that he was currently unable to touch such perfection. He pulled on his wrists so hard the bed rattled.

"Patience, my love," Sofia cooed, running the tip of his wand along the generous swell of her breasts over her corset top. With another whisper, the laces disappeared and the cumbersome garment fell to the floor atop the accumulating pile of her clothing. Cedric groaned, his manhood throbbing to a point near pain. As she divested herself of all accompanying regalia, she left on her shift, a gauzy veil so short and so thin she may as well have been wearing nothing at all. The angel white hue of the fabric only accentuated the dusky pink of her taut nipples and the silky umber of her nether curls. Slowly, she pulled the hairpins from her complicated coiffure, letting the heavy tendrils trickle down to tickle the tips of her breasts.

It wasn't an elegant maneuver, but Cedric managed to kick his pants the rest of the way off. "Get over here," he growled.

"Uh uh ah," she chided, climbing onto the bed on hands and knees. She lifted a leg over his lap, straddling him, but keeping a thin layer of air between the heat of their bodies. "This time, I'm the one in charge."

She slid the tip of his wand down her throat, across her clavicle and between her breasts, all the places his lips longed to be. She settled the magic instrument over her belly and began to murmur the usual incantation.

"What if we—" he interrupted, stopping her. She paused, looking down on him with a bemused quirk of her delicate brows. He felt heat rushing to his face. All in a rush, he said, "What if we didn't use the spell this time?"

Sofia blinked once, then again. "But without the spell that means I could get— I mean, we could be—"

He lowered his lashes, shielding the hope in his eyes lest it be crushed. "I know it's only our honeymoon, but it's been five years together, and I just thought, maybe, it was time that we start … trying."

" _Trying_ ," she echoed numbly, her slight inflection indicating that she understood the full weight of meaning behind that one simple word.

"Well, I mean, that is, only if you agree, obviously. Only if you feel it's something you're ready for. Because I feel I am, ready, that is." He was babbling like an idiot, he knew. Letting her tie him up and torment him sexually was nothing compared to pouring out his deepest held, most secret desire. "I've been thinking about it for some time, how I'd like nothing more than to … to see you carrying my— I mean, our child."

He shut his mouth, at once relieved that his torrent was over, but mortified by his mangled presentation. This was not how he expected to broach the subject.

Sofia said nothing. After a long beat of silence, he marshalled his paltry fortitude to look up at her. She knelt over top of him, clutching his wand as tears filled her eyes. One spilled over, sliding down her cheek to splash onto his chest.

 _Fuck._

"I'm sorry, my dear, I didn't mean to— It was stupid of me to bring this up now. Of course, we can wait, if you don't want—"

"Oh, do shut up," she sniffed, wiping at her streaming eyes.

He shut his mouth, keenly aware that he was perhaps the world's stupidest man in that moment.

Sofia dropped the wand, letting it roll off the side of the bed. It clattered to the floor just as she wrapped her arms around his neck, fairly sobbing into his ear. "I do. I want that very much. But, I thought if I brought it up now, that I'd be moving too fast for _you_." She giggled, sniffling, "I thought if I so much as said the word baby, you'd go running from the room in a panic."

He tipped his head against her neck, nuzzling the downy soft skin there. "Technically, I can't run from the room. You've got me tied up at your mercy, remember?"

She sat up, smirking again, her eyes bright but dry. "That's right, I do."

She leaned in, kissing him in a languid dance of tongues. Cedric craned his neck up, trying to get a close as possible to show her just how much he loved her, and how her impossible devotion made him feel. One of her hands snaked between their hips, grasping him lightly in preparation. He trembled against the knots, holding his breath as her velvety folds just brushed the heated tip of his head.

Sofia pulled away suddenly, making him groan in dismay. "Are you sure about this?" she asked, eyes wide with cautious hope. "Because I—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" he growled. With little more than a guttural word he was free, wrapping his arms about her and rolling them over so now he was on top.

Sofia gasped delightfully. "Are you telling me, you could have gotten free at any time?"

"Of course, my dear. I wouldn't be a sorcerer worth half his salt if I couldn't. And to answer your first question, yes, I am sure."

"Good," she whispered in a trembling voice as her fingertips brushed his cheek, "because it's something I've wanted for some time as well. And, I've been told it's in your best interest to keep me happy."

He matched her cheeky smile with one of his own. "Whatever you desire, my wife."

-Fin-

* * *

Author's Note: As always, I want to thank you all for reading my crazy brain ramblings. Thank you for all your kind reviews and words of encouragement. Now that Revelry is done, on to the next! :)

Reviews will always and forever be appreciated, even long after a story is completed.


End file.
